


Seducing Sherlock Holmes

by Jominerva



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Guaranteed happy ending, John ends up being kind of a jerk, M/M, Slow Build, Smut, Teenlock, rugby!john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jominerva/pseuds/Jominerva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started out as a dare. It ended up being so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my lovely beta ravenscar for helping me with this. Thanks to you, this doesn't look like it was written by a three year old. :)

“Oi Watson!”

A call, a glance, and a sideways pass that led to a grounding. That’s all it took to win the game.

Victory. It was a familiar feeling but that didn’t make the win any less sweet. John opened the door to the locker room and was greeted with a thick cloud of steam and shouting so loud he was certain he would have trouble hearing for the next week. Spirits were high and there was a smile on everyone’s face. Even Phillip Anderson, nicknamed ‘Sourpuss’ for his usually peevish expression was laughing in the corner with Samuel Donovan. Boys were running in and out of the showers with towels wrapped around their waists and hair damp from either water or sweat, talking jovially with their teammates. The sight caused John’s own face to light up.

“Great game everyone!’ he called out. He was answered with a chorus of cheers and laughter. Several boys threw their arms in the air as well. Sebastian Moran appeared out of nowhere and clasped a large hand on John’s shoulder.

“That it was,” he said smiling down at John. He turned to face the rest of the room with a broad grin on his face. “So, where’s the party tonight? Jim?” All eyes turned to the raven-haired boy in the corner of the locker room, fighting to keep his towel on straight while he searched through his gym bag. “What do you say? Your place?”

The young left wing glanced up at Sebastian before smiling and nodding his head. Another chorus of cheers erupted and Sebastian left John’s side to stand by Jim. John watched the two converse for a moment before turning and heading toward the showers.

Half an hour later John found himself in the passenger seat of Greg Lestrade’s car on his way to Moriarty Manor, as the team had taken to calling it. It was the usual location for their after-game parties, and famous for its indoor pool, movie theatre, and impressive square footage.

Even after numerous visits to the estate, John felt a bit awestruck as he made his way to the front door with Greg at his side.  They were greeted by a tall lanky fellow with ginger hair and freckles. If John remembered correctly, his name was Adam. They had Chemistry together.

“Ah, hello Greg!” he said cheerfully. “Its about time you showed up, John. They’re wanting to get a game of truth or dare started.” John laughed and pushed inside, leaving Greg alone with Adam. He would apologise later for abandoning Greg, but for now there was a game to be played.

“You don’t have to rush!” Greg called out after him. “You know they won’t start without you!”

John smiled to himself but didn’t turn around. Just because that was true, it didn’t mean he was going to take his time getting there.

In a town as small as theirs, it was hard not to end up with some sort of reputation, be it ‘The one who makes the best smoothies at Smooth Moves’ or ‘The girl who accidentally sets things on fire’. John was lucky enough to be known as ‘The King of Dares’. It was a title he earned fair and square, by never turning away from a game of truth or dare and by never failing to complete a dare, no matter how humiliating or idiotic. He’d stolen a coffee machine from the teachers lounge, prank-called his own parents, and once even streaked across the football field in broad daylight. He met every challenge head on, not for the notoriety but simply the adrenaline rush he got from doing something absolutely mental. King of Dares was a title John wore with pride.

He found a group of guys and girls, but mostly guys, seated in a circle on the floor of Mr. Moriarty’s study and greeted them with a nod and a small wave. Everyone welcomed John as he sat down between a pretty girl named Sarah and his friend Mike. Sarah beamed at him from her place at his right and he gave her a quirk of an eyebrow in response before turning his gaze to the other members of the group.

“Well,” he said, rubbing his hands together in obvious anticipation, “Let’s get this started, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” Jim said as he strolled over from an unknown location and took a seat beside Sebastian who gave him an amused, but puzzled, look.

“Jim?” Mike asked. “You never play.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” was the only reply Jim offered. His eyes darted around the room before locking with John’s and he gave him a small smile.

“Right then,” Sebastian said clapping his hands together. “Who wants to go first?”

“I do!” Jim said raising his hand. “Truth or dare, John?” It was a question that didn’t need asking. Everyone knew what John would pick.

“Dare.”

Jim sat up straighter and looked at John with his lips curved and his eyes narrowed. John licked his lips and rubbed his hands together in eager anticipation; He could tell this would be a good one. He met Jim’s gaze with a challenging stare of his own, silently stating _bring it on._

“I dare you … to seduce Sherlock Holmes.”

The room went quiet while John felt all the heat drain from his face. It took a moment before John thought to speak.

“What, you mean flirt with him?” he asked with a hopeful smile and a chuckle for good measure.

Jim shook his head. “No.”

John’s eyes darted around the room, seeing nothing but shocked and quizzical faces staring at either himself or Jim. Sebastian looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel while Mike had his fist in his mouth, biting back a laugh. John glared at him, then turned back to Jim.

“He’s not even here.”

“I didn’t give you a time limit.”

“I … I’m not gay.”

Jim shrugged. “Shouldn’t be a problem for the King of Dares. And besides, he is pretty dishy even for a bloke, no?”

As badly as John wanted to disagree with Jim, he couldn’t. Sherlock Holmes was undoubtedly the most attractive boy in their year, if not the entire school. He was tall and slim, with a dark mess of curls set in striking contrast with his pale skin. He had chiselled features that would do Michelangelo proud, and eyes the colour of a tempestuous sea. And if that weren’t enough, he was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. John was fortunate enough to have a locker beside him, and to sit behind him in Chemistry, which was less of an actual class and more of a debate between Sherlock and the teacher. Sherlock always won.

It was obvious from the way he carried himself, with his head held high and the way he looked down his nose at everyone like he _knew_ he was better than them, that he was aware of his reputation. And though he was the object of every straight female’s desires, he remained single. It was obvious that was by choice, after having the most attractive girls and school, and quite a few boys, throwing themselves at him.

Sherlock Holmes was unattainable in every sense of the word. Jim could not have picked a worse person for John to seduce. Or, attempt to seduce, because John was almost certain he wouldn’t even get past “hello”.

“So what do you say John?” Jim’s singsong voice broke through his thoughts and dragged him back to the present. “Are you going to back out? Willing to admit defeat early?”

“No,” John said, reaching up to run a hand through his shortly cropped hair. He let out a breath and glanced around the room, forcing himself to smile. “I’ll do it. I mean, they don’t call me the King of Dares for nothing, do they?”

The awkward silence that had been hanging over the room slowly began to dissipate as John chose his next victim. The game continued without another mention of Jim’s dare and after a while it seemed even Jim had forgotten about it. No one was aware of the emotional storm brewing within the mind of John Watson. He only received one other dare that night, which he readily accepted: to swim a lap in the indoor pool in nothing but his pants. At that point in time any dare was better than the one he’d received from Jim. He wanted to erase the very thought of seducing Sherlock Holmes from his mind, but found it was impossible to do so. All John could think about while in the water was Sherlock’s pale skin and dark curls, and those eyes that were suspiciously the same colour as the water he was swimming through.

John’s weekend was full of worrying and practicing flirting techniques in his bathroom mirror. He felt completely silly standing there in his boxers, running over pickup lines in his head. He’d never had trouble chatting up a pretty girl, or even a handsome bloke on occasion. What was one more guy? John’s pep talks would have worked if it weren’t for the fact that this ‘one guy’ was Sherlock-bloody-Holmes. John knew he would be lucky to even be spared a second glance.

By the time Monday came around John was a nervous wreck. He changed his outfit four times before leaving his house and even then he continued to fidget and repeatedly adjust the collar of his shirt.

Because Sherlock’s locker was actually right beside John’s own, it wasn’t hard to find him when he got to school that morning. John had spotted that mop of dark hair the moment he turned the corner and began walking down that hallway. He took his time getting to his locker, hoping to prolong the amount of time he had before he would have to interact with Sherlock.

Sherlock was dressed in a crisp white button up and a pair of dark jeans. He should have looked horribly overdressed but instead he simply made everyone around him look like fools for dressing so casually at school. John was suddenly glad he’d opted to wear an oxford shirt that day instead of his usual t-shirt and jeans combination.

John let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and pushed his way through the crowd. He stopped at his locker and tried his best to act nonchalant. He chanced a glance at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, and saw that his head was already turned towards him. He turned to face Sherlock with an eyebrow raised and what he hoped was a friendly smile on his face. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

John laughed despite himself. Of course Sherlock would immediately know something was up. He had a knack for “reading” people. He could tell you things you didn’t even know about yourself from the way you tied your shoelaces. Most people at their school found it weird, or even offensive at times, when Sherlock revealed something they didn’t want known, but John thought it was brilliant. He watched Sherlock’s eyes sweep over him and realized he was currently being “read”.

“What?” Sherlock repeated when his eyes met John’s again.

“I … um … ” It took John a second to remember why it was he needed to speak to Sherlock in the first place. For a moment, under that penetrating stare, all thoughts had left John’s mind.

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked upwards before he sighed dramatically and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Do take your time. I’ve got all day to stand here and watch you try to think.” John felt a flash of anger flare up at Sherlock’s teasing, but instantly squashed any unpleasant feelings.

“You’re really good at Chemistry.”

“That’s an understatement.”

John sent a glare Sherlock’s way, but the boy was too busy straightening the cuffs of his sleeves to notice.

“Anyway …” he said in as cheerful a manner as he could manage. “I’m not so great. So I was wondering if-”

“No, I will not do your work for you.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask!” John shouted as Sherlock began to turn away from him. Sherlock paused, but didn’t turn back. John closed his own locker and walked around to face Sherlock. His blue–grey eyes were wide as they stared back at John; He was surprised. John had managed to surprise Sherlock Holmes. John looked up at him with a pleased look as he leaned against the row of lockers.

“I was going to ask if you’d tutor me.” Sherlock stared at him for a moment longer, then narrowed his eyes and pushed past him, disappearing into the crowd of students in the hallway that John had forgotten were even there.

A quick glance at the time on his phone revealed to John that if he didn’t get moving soon he would be late for his first class of the day. Funny, John thought to himself. He hadn’t heard the bell ring.

When John stepped into the cafeteria later that day, his eyes went straight to the table in the center of the room, where half of the rugby team was already seated.  He navigated through the maze of tables and tray-carrying students, throwing his book bag on the floor by his usual seat with a sigh of relief. Greg nudged him in the side with his elbow the moment he sat down.

“Saw you talking to Sherlock this morning.” John rolled his eyes and grabbed the apple off of Greg’s tray.

“I’m not even sure you could call it that. More like you saw me making a fool of myself.”

“I assumed it went well.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s been staring at you since you sat down. He never pays anyone that much attention, so I assumed that was a good sign.”

“What?”

Greg nodded in the direction he’d been looking in over John’s shoulder. John turned around in his seat and after a moment of scanning the room he found Sherlock. He was sitting at a table beside the entrance to the cafeteria John had walked through, his eyes boring into John’s own. John was surprised he hadn’t been able to feel his eyes on him his gaze was so intense. When their eyes locked Sherlock didn’t look away. If anything he stared harder, tilting his head slightly. John held his gaze for a moment but eventually felt too awkward and looked away. Greg was smiling at him when he turned back around.

“I’m guessing you didn’t make that big a fool of yourself then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”

“Like what?” John asked, glancing briefly in Sherlock’s direction but made sure to avoid making eye contact. He looked back to Greg, who seemed to be staring off into space, deep in thought.

“Like … like he doesn’t hate you.” John barked out a laugh and took a bite of the apple he’d stolen from Greg’s tray.

“If that’s _not_ hate,” he said once his mouth was no longer full, “I hope I never see what hate looks like.”

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my lovely beta ravenscar for all your help!   
> Any wonky business in this is 100% my fault

John was surprisingly calm as he made his way to his locker the next morning. He hadn’t seen Sherlock since Chemistry, which had passed without incident aside from trying and failing to not look like he was watching Sherlock more than usual. John was glad there had been no more awkward encounters, but he wasn’t very pleased to have made such little progress on his dare. Though now that he already had one interaction under his belt (or one and a half if you count lunch), John felt a bit more confident in his abilities to speak to Sherlock without becoming tongue tied or forgetting what thoughts are. He tried to smile at Sherlock when he reached his locker, but he wouldn’t look his way.

“Morning Sherlock,” he finally said. All he received in response was a raised eyebrow and a noncommittal noise. John figured it was better than nothing. He closed his locker door and leaned against it with his arms folded over his chest while he watched Sherlock take his books out of his locker.

“So, have you thought any more about it?” Sherlock paused in his movements, then turned to face John, fully acknowledging him for the first time that morning.

“What?”

“I asked if you’d tutor me and you never gave me an answer.”

Sherlock stared at him, unblinking, then turned back to his locker and began rifling through it once more.

“Most people would understand that silence _is_ an answer.”

“Yeah, well I’m not most people.”

Sherlock cast him a sideways glance and John could’ve sworn he saw his mouth quirk into a smile before he spoke, in a voice softer than usual.

“No, you’re not.”

John smiled and opened his mouth to respond to what he hoped was just an offhanded compliment, but Sherlock continued speaking. “You’re certainly more persistent than most. I’m surprised you’re still trying to talk to me.”

“I really need a tutor.”

“I’m sure you can find someone to-”

“I want _you_.”

Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut and he turned his head so sharply his own hair hit him in the face. John smiled and held his gaze, and after a moment saw a shift in Sherlock’s demeanour. Where he once saw surprise, distrust, and even confusion, he now saw mirth and a mischievous glint in Sherlock’s eye. He was even smirking as he closed his locker door.

“Suppose I say yes – don’t get your hopes up-” Sherlock added when he saw the look on John’s face, “If I say yes, I’ll tutor you … What will you offer to do for me in return?”

“I’d do anything.”

“Anything?”

“ _Anything._ ”

Sherlock seemed to consider John’s response for a moment, bringing a hand up to run through his hair as he gazed off into the distance. John’s eyes followed the movement of with his eyes, imagining what it would be like to run his own hand through those silky tresses, only tearing his eyes away when he heard Sherlock clear his throat.

“Good morning, John.”

 With that he turned and walked away, leaving John at his locker staring at his retreating form.

John’s classes that morning went as well as they usually did, except for the fact that he couldn’t concentrate on anything his teachers said. All he could think about was how to get Sherlock to say yes. He replayed his conversations with Sherlock the previous mornings, trying to remember what had elicited the most positive reactions, and spending more time than he’d care to admit picturing the way Sherlock had smiled at him that morning before leaving.

At lunch when John sat down, his eyes immediately went to Sherlock’s table. He was sitting with the same girls from the previous day, who were chattering away while he paid them no mind. Instead his eyes were locked on John as if there were nothing else in the room to look at, or worth looking at. When their eyes met Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, but other than that remained absolutely still. John considered waving or smiling, decided against it, and turned back to his table.

His teammates were discussing their plans for practice after school that day. They had a game against their rival school coming up and that always meant tougher practice sessions. The guys usually spent lunch bemoaning the extra laps they would have to run, or whatever else they, for some reason, felt was cruel and unusual punishment, despite the fact that they were all in very good shape and were supposed to be top athletes of the school.

John tried his best to focus on the conversation, but found that his mind continually drifted to thoughts of the boy sitting several tables away. His wandering eyes met Sherlock’s again, and this time Sherlock glanced at the door before looking back at John and standing. John watched him as he spoke to the girls at his table, possibly excusing himself, before leaving the room. John sat frozen in place for a moment afterwards, staring at the door through which Sherlock had left.

Had that been an invitation of sorts? Had Sherlock decided for some reason that associating with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world? John felt a rush of excitement bubble up inside him at the thought of getting to talk to Sherlock again so soon, but quickly tamped it down and rose from his seat.

“Where are you going, John?” Jim asked. John could tell from the teasing smile on his face that he’d been watching Sherlock as well. John cleared his throat and gave him a cheeky grin of his own.

“Well, you know, I’ve got a dare to complete.”

The table erupted in a chorus of cheers and catcalls as John turned and walked away. When John stepped out of the cafeteria he couldn’t find Sherlock. Surely if he’d wanted John to follow him he would have waited somewhere nearby. Maybe Sherlock hadn’t wanted him to come out after all. John tried and failed to stem the disappointment he felt over that.

After wandering through the halls a bit John decided to head to his locker. At the very least he could grab his books and get to class without getting caught up in the mob of students that overtook the halls between classes.

His locker. The locker that just happened to be beside Sherlock’s. Had he gone there perhaps? John quickened his steps until he rounded the corner of the hallway his locker was on and he saw Sherlock standing in front of his own locker, looking incredibly impatient with a hand on his hip. John breathed out a laugh and shook his head; he would never have expected Sherlock to be so obvious. He’d known from the moment he received that dare from Jim that this wouldn’t be easy. John was expecting a challenge.

He made his way up the hallway, trying to make each footfall as quiet as possible. When John was several strides away from Sherlock, he turned his head and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, John, funny seeing you here.”

“What do you mean?” John asked, coming to a stop. Had he really misread everything in the cafeteria? John averted his eyes and willed his embarrassment not to show. He risked a glance up at Sherlock as he started to walk by him, already trying to think of ways to play this off, and caught sight of the smirk on Sherlock’s lips.

“You-”

“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.”

John was so shocked at Sherlock’s acquiescence he forgot to be angry at having been interrupted.

“My offer?”

“Earlier today you offered to do _anything_ to get me to tutor you, did you not?”

“I did.” John watched Sherlock’s face for a moment, taking in every detail. “What is it you’d like for me to do then?”

“I haven’t decided on anything yet, so let’s just say you’ll owe me.”

“Really?” Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded his head once. John breathed out a laugh and smiled up at him. “Well, thank you!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and closed his locker, leaning against it in much the same manner John had earlier that day.

“You’re just lucky I’m feeling generous. And that you’re the least tedious person I’ve met at this school.”

John tried to focus on the compliment instead of thinking about the mousy brunette who sat at Sherlock’s table and looked at him like he was the physical embodiment of love itself. He wondered how well she would take being called more tedious than someone who was essentially a stranger. Though, she seemed like the type to be glad to have ever been on Sherlock’s mind at all.

“So, you’ll tutor me?”

“I thought we just made that perfectly clear.” John rolled his eyes, but smiled at Sherlock, who briefly met his eye before looking away again. “Meet me here after school?”

“Ah, I can’t.”

“Why not?” Sherlock asked, his voice sounding much higher than normal. John had to keep from laughing at the facial expression partnered with the change in pitch. It was as if Sherlock were being introduced to the word ‘no’ for the first time. John wouldn’t be terribly surprised if he’d never been told no before.

“I’ve got practice after school. Rugby, you know. We’ve got a big game coming up and-” John paused as an idea came to mind. Once again he’d forgotten about his ulterior motive. The tutoring wasn’t necessarily what was important. Getting Sherlock to like him was. If he had to miss out on the chance to woo Sherlock in a more intimate setting, perhaps he could show off his physical assets instead.

“You’re more than welcome to come watch, though.”

There was a faraway look in Sherlock’s eyes, and for a moment he seemed to be seriously considering John’s offer, but eventually shook his head.

“I’m not a big fan of rugby.”

John took a step closer to Sherlock and shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He gave Sherlock the grin he reserved only for chatting up pretty girls at parties and flirting with cheerleaders on the side lines, hoping some of the charm might take effect on Sherlock as well. “You don’t have to be a fan of rugby to be _my_ fan.”

Sherlock leaned in a bit closer, his eyes darting all over John’s face before settling on his eyes.

“I’m not your fan, John. I’m your tutor.” Sherlock’s eyes dropped down for a moment before he met John’s eyes again and pursed his lips. “See you tomorrow.”

Sherlock pushed himself off of his locker and walked past John, glancing down at him as he walked past. John turned to watch him leave, and caught sight of Greg standing at the end of the hallway with a shocked expression on his face. John hurriedly retrieved the books he needed for his next classes and went the other way. He knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the ‘Sherlock’ discussion that would come as a result of this, but at least he could put it off until practice.

John had had hopes of postponing the inevitable conversation with Greg until after practice, but the moment he saw his face in the locker room he knew that wasn’t very likely to happen. Still, he hurried to get dressed in his practice uniform and left to go run laps before Greg had a chance to make it over to him.

He was on his second lap when he heard footsteps behind him, and sighed. Then he realised he was familiar enough with Greg to recognize his footsteps. He would be proud of himself for that later. Now, he was upset that Greg was apparently so adamant to talk about something that John would rather not speak about.

Of course, what did he have to be afraid of? Greg knew about the dare; John had told him the same night he’d received it. What could he possibly be so concerned about now?

“John?” Greg showed up on his right, and slowed his pace to match John’s so that they were running side-by-side. “Got a moment to talk?”

“Not really, but for some reason I don’t think that’s going to deter you very much, is it?”

“You know me so well.”

Under any other circumstances John might have laughed at that, but for now all he could do was keep looking straight ahead and hope that Greg couldn’t see how hesitant he was to speak with him. Greg remained silent only for a moment before sucking in a breath and John braced himself for impact. However, Greg was cut short by the sound of a whistle blowing on the other side of the field.

“Lestrade! Watson! Pick up the pace!” John let out the breath he’d been holding and pumped his legs harder. For a moment he considered trying to outrun Greg in an attempt to evade answering the questions he knew he was going to be asked about Sherlock. Then Greg appeared by his side, not looking the least bit winded despite their increased running pace, and John resigned to his fate while simultaneously cursing his shorter-than-average legs.

 “So, earlier today in the hall … ” Greg trailed off, and though John kept his eyes forward he knew Greg was watching him for some kind of reaction. He refused to give him one, and kept a neutral face as he ran. He hoped Greg would believe the reddening of his face to be a result of the physical exertion of running rather than the thought of his earlier conversation with Sherlock.

“I saw you talking with Sherlock.” John continued to remain silent. “Care to say anything?” John shook his head. “So you’ve got nothing to … explain, or confess?”

“What do you mean?” John asked, trying to keep his voice calm but failing miserably. Perhaps he could play off the sudden shakiness of his voice on his being out of breath.

“I mean … just … oh, don’t make me spell it out for you.” John gave him a sideways glance and continued to run, even picking up the pace a bit. Greg heaved a heavy sigh and kept up with him.

“It’s just … you two looked like you were … flirting, or something.”

“And? I told you about the dare. I don’t see why you’re so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised at that, exactly. Just, I’ve seen you when you were flirting just to be flirting, and that wasn’t – ”

Greg was cut off again by another whistle blow. John breathed out a sigh of relief and jogged to the centre of the field to join the others. He could feel Greg’s eyes burning a hole into his skull from where he stood behind him. It was all he could think about, from that moment on until the end of practice.

And yet, John couldn’t help thinking that Greg’s staring was nothing compared to the ways Sherlock had looked at him earlier in the hall.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to my lovely beta ravenscar for all your help with this!

The next morning Sherlock was at his locker when John arrived. Though he acted as if he hadn’t noticed him, John noticed how Sherlock seemed to be unconsciously leaning towards him and glancing over at him every now and then, almost like he was waiting for John to say something. John debated for a moment, while he gathered his books, whether he would speak or not. Every other time he spoke with Sherlock he felt as if he were dragging the conversation out of him. And yet, only two minutes of silence had passed and Sherlock seemed almost antsy.

John watched Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. He was switching his weight from one foot to the other and pulling out far more books than would be necessary for his morning classes, especially since John had never known Sherlock to even look at his Chemistry book once during class. Conclusion: Sherlock wanted John to speak to him.

John felt giddy as he looked up at Sherlock, who briefly met his eye, then looked away to stare into his locker once more. John’s lips stretched into a tight smile and he closed his locker before turning and making sure to ‘ _accidentally_ ’ brush against Sherlock as he walked by him.

He felt Sherlock’s eyes on him the entire time he walked until he turned the corner.

It was with a smug grin on his face that John walked to the cafeteria later that day. He was taking a longer route than usual, solely for the purpose of making Sherlock wonder where he was. From where he sat Sherlock would be able to see nearly everyone who came into the cafeteria. He would certainly notice if John’s seat was empty.

He had briefly considered not showing up to lunch at all, but soon realised that would have been a bit counterproductive. Not going to lunch meant absolutely no chance of seeing Sherlock, and not seeing Sherlock meant no chance of interacting with Sherlock. So, he settled for the next best thing: make Sherlock squirm a bit, _then_ give him the conversation he seemed to so desperately want that morning.

He figured he could pop into the cafeteria just long enough to capture Sherlock’s attention and leave. Hopefully Sherlock would understand and they could have a quick chat in the hallway, and clear up some final details on the tutoring thing. John had not realised it until moments ago, but they’d never settled on a place to meet after school, and John didn’t even know if there would be any tutoring that afternoon. Perhaps that was why Sherlock had been looking at him so expectantly. John quickened his pace until he reached the cafeteria doors. Then, he took a moment to collect himself before walking in. He knew Sherlock would be right beside the door when he walked in, but he didn’t look down as he walked past. Instead, he went straight to his table and sat down. He was greeted in the usual manner: with a chorus of head nods and a few hello’s. He greeted those who greeted him, and pretended not to notice that Greg was suspiciously quiet.

He turned around in his seat and his eyes went straight to Sherlock’s table. Of course, Sherlock was looking back at him as if his eyes knew of nothing else they could do. After holding his gaze for several moments John looked to the door he had just walked through, then back at Sherlock and tried to convey his message through the extended eye contact.

Sherlock cast a sideways glance at the door, and when his eyes met John’s again he nodded. John stood from his seat and left, not bothering to make any excuse as to why he was leaving less than a few minutes after sitting down. As he walked by Sherlock’s table he saw him begin to stand, and had to fight back a laugh as he pushed the door open.

The door didn’t even have time to shut properly before Sherlock came through it. He crossed his arms and stared at John, his face looking torn between curious and annoyed. John decided he liked that look on him.

“Hellooooo,” he said, drawing the word out as if it were his favourite thing to say. Sherlock made a noise that wasn’t quite a growl and walked past him. John trailed along behind him for a bit, then they fell into sync with each other’s footsteps.

“Aww, what’s this? Do you not feel like talking today?”

“Funny you should say that.”

“And we have dialogue!” John exclaimed happily, before realising the sour tone in which Sherlock had spoken. “Oh, what?” His face fell, and he felt genuinely confused until he saw the sheepish look on Sherlock’s face, and remembered how he’d looked that morning. “Oh, are you mad at me because I didn’t say hi to you this morning?”

“No.”

Sherlock had answered so quickly John couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sorry Sherlock. I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“If you were really concerned about bothering me you wouldn’t have asked me to tutor you.”

“My need for a tutor outweighed my usual consideration for others-”

“You mean your need to have _me_ as your tutor.”

When Sherlock saw the blank look on John’s face he heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes, but John saw the apprehension that flickered across his features.

“When … When I suggested you find someone else to tutor you, you said you wanted _me_.”

“And I still do.” There was a slight hitch in Sherlock’s breathing just loud enough for John to hear over the sound of their footsteps. John applauded himself on his earlier word choice and for his ability to cause a short circuit in Sherlock’s magnificent brain.

“And since we’re on the topic of the tutoring thing, where exactly is that happening?” Sherlock stopped walking and turned to open his locker. John tried not to let it show how shocked he was that they had somehow made it to their lockers. Sherlock pulled out his Chemistry book and turned to John.

“I’ll be in the library today after school until around 4:30. Feel free to do whatever you’d like with that information.”

John leaned back against the lockers, turning his head to watch Sherlock as he closed his locker. Sherlock then pressed a shoulder against the cool metal and held his Chemistry book tightly against his chest while he stared back at John. His eyes seemed to roam all over John’s face, never staying still for more than a moment at a time. John took the opportunity to catalogue Sherlock’s face as well. The elegant slope of his nose, the prominent dip in his upper lip, the eyebrows that were a lighter shade of brown than the rest of his hair, the freckle on his neck. The brown mark stood in stark contrast to the pale skin surrounding it, and for a moment John found himself unable to look away from the long column of milky white skin framed by the expensive fabric of Sherlock’s collar.

Sherlock cleared his throat, and John guiltily averted his eyes. If Sherlock had truly noticed his staring, he didn’t mention it, and John was grateful for that. Sherlock gave John a curt nod before turning and walking away.

John spent the remainder of the school day in an all-encompassing stupor of excitement. Everything was simultaneously heightened and dulled by the prospect of spending time with Sherlock after school that day. Heightened because he felt that every nerve fibre within him was on fire, which meant every sound was louder, every sight clearer. All of this combined into an excited buzz that was still all but drowned out by his anxiousness for his plans that afternoon.

In Chemistry he found it nearly impossible to sit still or avoid looking at Sherlock, who seemed to be in a similar state of agitation if the constant drumming of his fingertips on the table top meant anything.

John’s last class of the day was the furthest away from his locker, so he dashed through the halls in hopes of catching Sherlock at his locker before he went to the library. He had no idea why, but the idea of walking with Sherlock on their way to their study session was rather appealing.

However when John arrived at his locker Sherlock was nowhere to be found. It was with a frown that John gathered his books, making sure not to put away his Chemistry book like he usually would.

He passed Mike en route to the library, but didn’t stop to chat as was his wont. He promised himself that he would give him a call sometime later that week to make up for his curtness in the hallway. But for now, he had a study date to get to.

He pushed open the doors of the library with a bit more force than was warranted, causing the heavy wood to smack against the wall. The librarian looked up and gave him a look, but because the warning in her eyes was only teasing John didn’t feel entirely threatened. Still, he gave her his best apologetic look before he turned to scan the room for Sherlock.

He was sitting at a table near the back of the room, eyes trained on John and an amused look playing about his features. John quickly made his way over and threw his book bag down, earning himself a scoff from Sherlock.

“What?” he asked.

“John, I know you might not be overly familiar with the library but even you should know there is a sense of decorum one must maintain when in a place like this.”

“Oh, you mean the door? I-”

“The door, the excessively loud footsteps, the careless way you threw your bag down and the fact that you continue to talk at a normal speaking volume.”

John’s cheeks burned with embarrassment at Sherlock’s words. In his haste to get to Sherlock he’d thrown his manners into the wind. He looked around the room and saw several people eyeing him carefully, some with amusement and some with horror, probably wondering why he had been allowed to stay after his grand entrance.

“Oh,” he said, shrinking down in his seat a bit. He kept his voice as quiet as he could when he spoke. “I’m sorry. I don’t know – ” Sherlock shut him up with a wave of a hand.

“Relax John, I was kidding. It’s just a school library. No one cares how much noise you make. “

“Then why are those people staring at me?”

“Oh them? They’re probably just wondering why you’re here in the first place. Athletes aren’t really known for frequenting places like this.” John bristled at Sherlock’s comment, but was forced to remain silent as Sherlock continued to speak. “They’re also probably wondering why you’re sitting here with me, of all people.”

“What’s wrong with you?” The look Sherlock gave him then was perfect enough to be the example picture for the word ‘derision’ in the dictionary.

“Oh come on John,” he said quietly, with no malice behind his words. “You’ve met me. And even before then I know you’ve had to at least have heard of me. People do love to talk and at this school it appears I’m a popular topic of conversation.”

“Well, someone’s conceited.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” The small smile that had been forming on John’s face instantly disappeared at Sherlock’s outburst. Perhaps he had hit a nerve? The look on Sherlock’s face was enough evidence that this was not a conversational tract Sherlock was entirely comfortable with.

Sherlock refused to look at John, and instead began rifling through the papers sitting before him on the table. He stacked them up and pushed them towards John, still not looking at him.

“These are my Chemistry notes from the past two weeks. I thought you might want to look over them.” Sherlock sounded mostly calm at this point, but John could hear the slight tremor in his voice as he fought to keep himself composed.

“Sherlock …”

“Do you want the notes or not?”

An awkward silence stretched out between them. John understood the fragility of the moment. He knew that if he said the wrong thing now it would all go to hell, so he simply reached out and put a hand on the stack of papers.

“Yes, thank you.” The corner of Sherlock’s mouth lifted slightly in response.

They spent the remainder of their time in the library with John trying to think of ways to get the conversation away from Chemistry and onto Sherlock, and with Sherlock deflecting every attempt John made to steer the conversation in a direction other than schoolwork.

When 4:30 rolled around John wasn’t sure if he was upset or glad to be done with their tutoring session. Sherlock was a great tutor, if a bit condescending, but John knew all the material already. It had felt more like an endless review session than anything.

But, he had learned that Sherlock was planning to major in Chemistry in Uni and conducted experiments in his free time. So at least this session wasn’t entirely fruitless.

They parted ways at the front of the school, Sherlock turning to walk down the sidewalk while John hopped onto the next bus to come by.

He used his time on the bus to dissect his school day.  His first interaction with Sherlock in the hallway, their silent conversation in the cafeteria, the arrangement of a meeting time and place and the actual meeting. He’d seen Sherlock four times that day and yet he felt like he’d made almost no headway.

He supposed he should just take what he could get at this point. He was still a bit shocked Sherlock was speaking to him, let alone spending over an hour alone with him in a library with nothing but textbooks for entertainment. John wondered if he could possibly convince Sherlock to move the tutoring sessions to his house. He did mention having some sort of Chemistry set in his room. Surely John could persuade him to focus on a different kind of ‘Chemistry’ if the setting worked in his favour, and what better setting for a seduction than a bedroom?

It was with a confident smirk on his face that John exited the bus that afternoon, unlocking the front door with a chuckle. This was going to be fun.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank you to ravenscar for being such a wonderful beta!

The wide-eyed look Sherlock gave John when he saw him at their lockers was worth the extra thirty minutes he’d spent getting ready that morning. Not a hair on his head was out of place, his shoes were scuff free, and the waistcoat he wore over his collared shirt had definitely been a good investment on his part.

“Good morning, Sherlock.” Sherlock dipped his head down and turned towards his locker. “Are we still on for this afternoon?”

“You don’t have rugby practice?” Sherlock asked his locker.

“Nope.”

A moment of silence stretched between them as John awaited a response. All he received was a head nod before Sherlock’s locker closed and the young man was on his way to parts unknown.  John stared after the retreating form as long as he could, not realising the smile Sherlock had given him was mirrored on his own lips until his eyes caught sight of another familiar figure at the end of the hall and it vanished from his face.

Greg was standing with his arms folded and a single eyebrow raised, a playful, yet guarded expression on his features. John pretended not to see him and turned to his locker, going about his business as if he didn’t notice Greg approaching him.

“Morning, John.”

“Good morning, Greg.”

“So… you and Sherlock-”

“Look, Greg, I know what you’re going to say and I’m telling you that you’re _wrong._ Of course I’m flirting with him. Of course it looks real. I’m the King of Dares! I’ll do anything it takes to keep that title.”

For a moment Greg stood as still as a statue, eyes searching John’s, before he let his arms fall to his sides.

“Just … be careful okay?” Greg was avoiding eye contact, John noticed, and instead staring in the direction in which Sherlock had left. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Alright, Greg. I didn’t know you cared about Sherlock so much… or at all, really, but he’s a big boy who can take care of himself. Even so, I won’t intentionally hurt him for the sake of completing a dare. I’m not _that_ much of an arse.” Greg let out a puff of air John guessed was meant to be a sigh. Or a laugh. Or something in between.

“Yeah, well, it’s not just _him_ I’m worried about.”

With that he turned and walked away, leaving behind a bewildered John clutching a stack of books tightly to his vest-covered chest.

The crowd in the hallway had started to thin out. John closed his locker door, not caring if he had everything he needed for the day, and scurried off to class.

 

* * *

 

The lunchroom was buzzing with the usual chatter of students and scraping of silverware against plates. John was seated in his usual spot, talking with his rugby mates and sending the occasional glance in Sherlock’s direction to check that he was still looking back. He always was.

John could feel another pair of eyes on him – Greg’s – but he resolutely did not look in his direction. He still hadn’t shaken the strange feeling their earlier conversation had given him.

When he noticed there were about fifteen minutes of lunchtime left, John said his goodbyes and rose from his seat. He made sure to catch Sherlock’s eye once more before he exited the room.

He waited two minutes at his locker before Sherlock appeared at his side, casually leaning against the lockers with one jean-clad leg crossed over the other. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to the elbow, exposing just a bit more of that milky white skin and showcasing the veins on his forearm. John began to wonder just what the rest of Sherlock looked like beneath all those clothes.

At first glance one might assume the body beneath the posh clothing to be pale and lanky, with visible ribs instead of muscle definition. John, however, knew not to judge a book by its cover. Especially not when this particular book walked with the confidence and grace that Sherlock did. There was just something about the way he carried himself that bespoke a concealed strength beneath his cool exterior.

Once John realised he’d been staring at Sherlock’s forearms for longer than he cared to admit, he moved his gaze to Sherlock’s eyes. It was obvious that Sherlock had noticed John’s preoccupation, but he didn’t seem to mind. He seemed perfectly content to remain still and let John’s eyes wander. He was probably used to being ogled, as gorgeous as he was.

“So, I’ll see you this afternoon then, John?”

“I don’t know, will you? You never did answer me this morning.”

John received a smirk in response as Sherlock pushed himself off of his locker and opened it. John watched him pull out his Chemistry textbook, slowly, like he wanted to draw attention to the action.

John fumbled with his combination lock for a moment before he managed to get it open. Funny, why were his hands shaking so much?

“I’ll see you in class, John.”

When John turned to respond, Sherlock was already almost out of sight with the way the hall was filling up with students. He watched Sherlock cast a furtive glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

“My, my,” came a sweet, sing-song voice in John’s ear. “You two certainly seem to be hitting it off.” John turned to face Jim smiling at him with his hands held behind his back. He laughed and shuffled closer to John, cupping a hand around his ear as he leaned in.

“Though, it almost looked like _he_ was seducing _you._ ”

Jim left immediately after that, leaving John no chance to respond, and his words continued to ring in John’s head after he was gone. It was probably a harmless joke, but John was afraid Jim’s words might have held some merit. He had to admit something about their dynamic seemed to have shifted just then. _Was_ Sherlock attempting to seduce him?

More importantly, was it working?

Never mind all that. John wasn’t going to go down without a fight. If anyone was going to seduce anyone it would be him. That afternoon, he was taking back control. Sherlock wouldn’t know what hit him.

He briefly considered sitting beside Sherlock in Chemistry, but figured that would be too obvious. Instead, he made sure to cross in front of Sherlock’s table, moving fast enough to create a breeze. He knew the wind would carry the scent of his cologne.

Sherlock was uncharacteristically quiet during class, and John wasn’t the only person to have noticed. Even their teacher continued to send curious glances in Sherlock’s direction when she was allowed to speak without interruption.

Sherlock was usually the first to leave, and today was no exception. Despite John’s hurrying to get his things packed away, Sherlock was already gone by the time John stood from his seat.

Luckily, John was able to catch Sherlock at his locker after school. He hadn’t been expecting to see Sherlock there, but it was a pleasant surprise.

“Hey, what happened in class today?” John asked when he reached him. Sherlock eyed him strangely.

“What do you mean?”

“You were so quiet. I missed your little back and forth with Mrs. Phillips.” Sherlock closed his locker and turned to narrow his eyes at John, who adopted his best wide-eyed and innocent look. “I mean, class today was so _boring_ without it. I could hardly keep my eyes open.” John saw the small quirk of Sherlock’s lips and the strange look that passed over his features.

“Yes, well, I was a bit … preoccupied. With something more important than silly banter.”

“Oh? With what?” Sherlock held up a green pocket folder and shook it.

“Notes. For our study session. Now, shall we?” With a dip of his chin and a brief flash of teeth they were on their way. John couldn’t help but notice the strange looks they received from passers by as they walked. If Sherlock noticed he said nothing, and instead continued on with the green folder tucked against his chest as he walked.

John rushed to hold the door open for Sherlock, who didn’t even spare him a glance as he walked into the library. John made sure not to let the door slam, then hurried to join Sherlock at the table he’d chosen near the back of the room by a large window that overlooked the street in front of the school.

Their session began just as the previous one did, though John was able to get a smile out of Sherlock when he commented on the lunch they’d served in the cafeteria that day. Sherlock admitted to not daring to touch the food at their school and expressed his shock at those who dared to ‘put such atrocities into their bodies’, as he’d put it.

“Well then, if you say the food here is so appalling, maybe you can show me what decent food tastes like sometime,” John had said, leaning in close enough to Sherlock to smell the peppermint gum he was chewing. He saw the bobbing of Sherlock’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and took notice of the pinkening of his ears with an inward smile.

Even after they’d started studying John had managed to sneak a few jokes into their conversation that resulted either in Sherlock rolling his eyes with a smile on his face or even chuckling on one occasion. It was when Sherlock began quizzing him from the book that things went downhill. John got a long series of questions right and was feeling pretty good about himself until Sherlock slammed his hands down on the table and glared at him.

“You don’t need a tutor.”

John pretended not to notice the annoyed tone in which Sherlock had spoken and turned to him with a smile.

“Why, thank you-”

“That wasn’t a compliment.” Sherlock’s eyes were cold as he stared at John, his gaze unwavering, causing John to squirm in his seat. He fought to maintain eye contact, willing himself to stare back into those accusing verdigris eyes even as they narrowed and turned impossibly cold.

“You clearly are not struggling at all in Chemistry. Granted, you’re not perfect but in no way are you in need of a tutor. And yet, you deliberately sought me out for this very purpose. Why?”

For a moment John found himself trapped by Sherlock’s gaze, held captive and rendered unable to speak. He recognized the distrust in Sherlock’s eyes and instantly hated himself for being the momentary cause of such unhappiness.

“I-”

“Tell me the truth,” Sherlock said, leaning back in his seat, but somehow crowding John further. “You should know how much I hate liars.”

John swallowed thickly and his eyes darted around the room. Even without looking he knew Sherlock’s eyes were still on him. He could feel Sherlock’s laser-like focus burning a hole into the side of his skull.

“Well?” Sherlock prompted after several moments of silence. John began searching for a way to get out of this without lying or telling the truth, because there was no way he was going to tell him about the dare, but he knew Sherlock would know immediately if he tried to deceive him.

“I wanted … I needed an excuse to spend time with you.” John figured that was close enough to the truth. He _had_ wanted to spend time with Sherlock, and still did, but he didn’t think Sherlock needed to know why it was that he talked to him in the first place.

When Sherlock remained quiet for several moments John decided to look at him, and was quite perplexed at what he saw.

Sherlock was sitting almost like a statue, completely still except for the movement of his chest as he breathed. His pale eyes were wide and his lips slightly parted. He was the perfect picture of astonishment.

“Me?” he asked, a single eyebrow raising, the disbelief evident in his tone of voice.

“Well … yeah.” John cleared his throat. “I mean, you’re all mysterious and enigmatic and whatnot, and no one knows anything about you except that you are those things. Can you blame me for being curious?”

“No, I suppose not,” Sherlock said with a sniff, slowly returning to his normal haughty demeanour. John huffed out a laugh and watched Sherlock begin to put away his notes. He shoved his own Chemistry book in his bag and turned to Sherlock, who was starting to stand.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s 4:30.”

“But … we didn’t even get to talk really.” Sherlock hoisted his bag over his shoulder and shrugged.

“It’s not my fault you came up with such a lousy excuse to spend time with me.”

“Oh come on,” John pleaded. He ambled to his feet and rushed to Sherlock’s side. “Not even a little chat? I could go put my Chemistry book in my locker. You could come with me.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Sherlock asked as he held the library door open for John to walk through. John whirled around to face him the moment he stepped into the hallway and stared up at Sherlock hopefully. For a while Sherlock simply stared back, even crossing his arms over his chest in outward defiance. John took a step closer to him and broadened his smile, and the moment he saw Sherlock’s lips twitch he knew he’d won.

“Fine, you have however long it takes to get to my house to spout whatever nonsense you wish. It takes roughly twenty-seven minutes, give or take a few minutes depending on the foot traffic in town. That should be an adequate amount of time.”

It took John a moment to properly process Sherlock’s words, and when he did he felt a strange warmth blossoming in his chest.

“Is this your way of asking me to walk you home?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened just a fraction and his cheeks took on a pinkish colour as he cleared his throat and looked away.

“I-”

“Because I’d love to.”

Two dimples appeared on either side of Sherlock’s face as he stared down at John, his eyes losing their normal intensity for only a moment before his usual sullen expression was put back in place.

“Well then,” he said turning towards the nearest exit. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ravenscar for all your help!

They walked in companionable silence while John racked his brain for something interesting to say. Sherlock was characteristically silent beside him, leaving John with nothing else to focus on but the gentle brushing of their elbows as they walked.

“So, do you go to the library often?” Almost as soon as the question had left his lips John wanted to kick himself. Sherlock didn’t seem to mind the inane question though, and answered in his usual detached manner.

“I go there almost every day.”

“Why?”

Sherlock sent him a sideways look that probably should have been accompanied by a long suffering sigh and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat. The movement caused their arms to brush together once more. “Surely you know why someone would go to the library.”

“Well, sure, but why stay after school to do your homework … or study, or whatever, when you could just do that at home?”

“Perhaps I prefer the environment of the school library to that of my home when doing schoolwork.”

John supposed that made sense. He could remember countless times he’d started on his homework in his room only to find himself playing computer games an hour later with half of a paper still left to write. “Fewer distractions,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“You could say that,” Sherlock answered with a shrug. John glanced up at him but Sherlock wouldn’t meet his eyes. They walked for several moments in silence with John trying not to make it obvious that he was watching Sherlock and failing, and Sherlock pretending he didn’t notice John’s staring.

Several times John had turned to look at Sherlock and found that Sherlock’s eyes were on him. Rather than look away or pretend to be staring at something just past John, Sherlock simply gave a small smile before turning his head and facing forward once more.

“So… how’s the rugby going?” Sherlock eventually asked with an added tilt of his head in John’s direction.

“Um … it’s fine.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Just fine? That’s all you’ve got to say when asked about the one thing your life revolves around?”

“My life doesn’t revolve around rugby.”

Sherlock stopped walking and turned fully to face John then. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course not.”

Sherlock began walking again, but kept his head turned towards John. “But – but rugby is a lifestyle. The be all and end all. Something you want to do for the rest of your life.”

“And why do you think that?”

Sherlock ducked his head down and looked away. “That’s … just what I assumed. Why else would you devote so much of your time to it if it’s not that important to you?”

“I never said it’s not important. I love playing. I love my team. I love the game. I love getting out there and being active, getting that adrenaline rush and sense of accomplishment that comes from a well-fought victory. But, it’s not something I want to do forever. If I’m being honest, the only reason I haven’t made the decision to quit after graduation is because there’s a chance I’ll get a scholarship for it. And that will help me to do what I really want to do with my life.”

“And what is that?”

“I want to go to medical school. Become a doctor. I want to help people, you know?”

“Mmm…yes.” John turned to look at Sherlock who was studying him closely, an almost fond look in his eyes as they roamed John’s face. John felt his throat go dry as he stared back at Sherlock, who smiled wider and nodded his head.

“Yes,” he said. “You seem like the healing type. I’m sure you’d make an excellent doctor.”

“Ta.”

John stuffed his hands into his pockets. He tried to make his arm _accidentally_ brush against Sherlock’s as he did so, but he bumped his elbow against Sherlock’s a bit too hard. His head was turned but John could see Sherlock’s shoulders shaking, and he was grateful Sherlock had the common courtesy to not laugh aloud at his faux pas.

“So what do you want to do with your life? Are you going to use your Chemistry degree to create the cure for cancer or something?”

“Probably not on _purpose_.” Sherlock sucked in a breath and held it. He seemed nervous, or hesitant to continue, but John saw his shoulders relax before he spoke.

“I find Chemistry… fascinating. I like learning things, and by studying Chemistry there’s always something new to discover. The learning never stops. Questions are answered and new questions arise, and as a result we get a better understanding of the world around us. To study Chemistry is to work towards eliminating the unknown. I hate not knowing things, so I love Chemistry. You look at the periodic table and see a bunch of things you need to memorise for a test. I look at the periodic table and see the building blocks of life itself.”

“That is … quite something. Fascinating, yes. I’ve never thought about Chemistry that way before.”

Sherlock stopped speaking abruptly and looked down at John as if he’d almost forgotten he was there, and John couldn’t help but smile. Seeing Sherlock so lost in his own world had been beautiful, but not as beautiful as the look Sherlock gave him then. His eyes were sparkling with thoughts of Chemistry still in his mind, but instead of the sparkle being dulled by a far away look his eyes were sharp. John felt trapped by them, but he was in a trap from which he had no wish to escape.

They didn’t talk much for the remainder of the walk. There were more sidelong glances and more brushing of elbows that were obviously intentional on Sherlock’s part, and the awkward clearing of John’s throat every time he thought about the way Sherlock looked at him only moments ago.

Eventually Sherlock stopped in front of a two-story Victorian style house. John took a look around at the neighbourhood and decided it was pretty nice, not unlike his own, save for the multiple expensive cars in every driveway and the extra stories on every house, and the perfectly manicured lawns whereas John only had a few bushes surrounding his porch.

“So, this is you?” John asked, motioning to the house they’d stopped in front of.

“This is my house, yes. Now that you know where it is feel free to stalk me any time.” He lifted a finger and pointed to one of the windows on the second floor facing the street. “That’s my bedroom there on the second floor though so good luck if you ever try to sneak in at night and-”

“And _what_?” John asked, folding his arms across his chest and raising an eyebrow. Sherlock met his eye and quickly looked away. John noticed that the parts of Sherlock’s ears not covered by his curly hair were pink. He took a step closer to Sherlock and nudged him in the side with his elbow.

“Don’t worry, Sherlock. I won’t come into your bedroom unless you ask me to.”

A bashful smile was all Sherlock offered in response before he turned and headed up the walk way to his front porch. John remained on the sidewalk with his hands stuck awkwardly in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“So, I guess this is goodbye?” he called out. Sherlock turned away from where he had begun to walk up the stairs and stared wide-eyed at John.

“Oh, forgive me for being so thoughtless. I can’t let you walk back home by yourself. Our driver should return from taking my father to work any minute now. He can take you home.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright-”

“Nonsense. Now come and wait inside. It’s getting dark out.”

John opened his mouth to protest again but the look Sherlock gave him led him to remain quiet and hurry to meet Sherlock at the door.

“Thanks, I guess.”

Sherlock held up a hand to silence him. “No need to thank me.” Sherlock flashed him a smile and unlocked the door. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”

“And how exactly is it that I’ve … scratched your back?” John heard rather than saw Sherlock fumble with the handle of the door and chuckled.

“Well,” Sherlock shakily began once he’d opened the door, “You provided me with company and a bit of conversation on a journey home that would have been dull otherwise. It’s the least I can do to ensure you make it home safely.”

“Well, thank you-”

“I told you not to thank me.” Sherlock turned on John sharply and narrowed his eyes. “Thanking me implies that I’ve done you some sort of favour and I don’t do favours. This is-”

“You scratching my back. Got it.” Sherlock began to turn to head inside but John continued speaking. “And just for the record, I wouldn’t mind _scratching your back_ again sometime.”

Sherlock tripped as he was crossing over the threshold and would have gone tumbling into his house had it not been for John’s quick reflexes.  He reached out to steady Sherlock with one hand on his hip and the other gripping his bicep. John could feel his own heart beating as his mind registered the feeling of skin against skin where Sherlock’s shirt had lifted. He could feel Sherlock’s laboured breathing and though it was most likely due to the near-fall, a part of John hoped that perhaps Sherlock was as affected by their close proximity as he was himself.

Slowly, John helped Sherlock back to a standing position, holding him flush against himself for a moment before backing away, putting at least a foot of space between them. He could tell from his body language how uncomfortable Sherlock was. He himself was a bit unnerved at the way his skin felt a tad too hot and the irregular beating of his heart.

“Erm … thanks.” Sherlock murmured. He led John inside and closed the door behind them.

The entryway was modestly decorated, though a bit sparse. There was a plant in the corner by the door, a coat rack with several garments on it, and a few paintings on the walls. There were no family portraits, John noted. The hardwood floors were shining as if freshly waxed, and there was a grandiose, curving staircase to their left. Sherlock disappeared through a doorway on the left just before the stairs and John followed him into the next room. There was a fireplace on the far wall, several bookcases along another, and two plush green armchairs by the window.

Sherlock gestured to one, then proceeded to sit in the other. John seated himself and folded his hands in his lap, glancing around the room.

“This isn’t Buckingham Palace, John. You don’t have to sit like that.”

John looked to Sherlock, who had his feet tucked beneath him in his seat. He was giving him an odd smile, his eyes dancing with amusement at John’s awkward posture. Slowly, John began to relax into the seat.

“From here we should be able to hear when Adkins returns with the car.”

John turned to look at Sherlock when he spoke, already trying to think of something to say to pass the time. He caught sight of the sunlight landing on the side of Sherlock’s face, making his already otherworldly features look more ethereal as the shadows danced across his nose and cheekbones. In the light Sherlock’s eyes looked as clear and blue as the water off the coast of the Maldives.

Sherlock must have felt John’s eyes on him as he turned his head then. He remained silent, but John saw the smile in his eyes.

“You … you have a lovely home,” John offered as a way to break the silence. The smile in Sherlock’s eyes spread to his lips then and he turned in his seat to face John more.

“You’ve only seen the entryway and this room. How could you say that if you’ve only seen two rooms?”

“Well … I just assumed the rest of your house is similar.” John sat up a bit straighter. “Perhaps you could give me a tour? To verify my assumptions.”

Sherlock raised a finger to his chin and tapped.

“Perhaps-” He was cut off by the sound of a car door slamming shut. “Ah, that would be Adkins.” John tried not to look too put out as Sherlock stood from his seat.

“Well, maybe we could do the tour some other time, then.” John watched the look on Sherlock’s face go from intense to something less focused.

“Some other time … ” he murmured, still tapping his chin. After a moment he seemed to come back to reality and shook his head, his curls dancing wildly. “Well, as for now, we’ve got to get you home. You stay here for a moment.”

John waited patiently for Sherlock to return. He took another look around the room at the hardwood floors, the cobblestone around the fireplace, and the beautiful landscapes that took up any free space on the walls. He could only imagine what the rest of the house looked like. He knew he had to get back here, and soon.

“John!” Sherlock’s voice drifted in from the foyer. John stood from his seat and followed the sound. There was a man dressed in a white shirt and back dress pants smiling politely at him.

“Hello, John. I’m Lucas Adkins and I’ll be taking you home this evening.”

“Alright, yeah, thanks.” John followed Sherlock and Adkins through another doorway into the kitchen, then through another door that lead into the garage, where a black Mulsanne was waiting for them. Once he got over the initial awe, John turned to Sherlock with a wide grin.

“Well, I don’t suppose you’ll be riding too.”

“Why would I? I’m already at my house.”

John sighed and nodded his head. “Right, well, I’ll see you at school then.” Sherlock didn’t verbally respond, but nodded his head and opened the door for John. He closed the door once John was inside, then remained in the garage until the car was started and began to pull out.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta ravenscar!

The ride from Sherlock’s house was incredibly awkward, with the obnoxious creaking of the leather seats and Adkins’ abysmal attempts at small talk. It was with a sigh of relief and lightning-fast speed that John exited the car when it finally rolled to a stop in front of his home.

John watched the vehicle drive away into the darkness before turning and unlocking the front door. When he pushed the door open he was welcomed with the scent of beef and potatoes and the sound of light guitar strumming drifting in from the direction of the kitchen.

“Welcome home, John!” His sister Harry called out over the music. “We’re making your favourite!”

John quirked an eyebrow and dropped his bag at his feet. He made his way into the kitchen and greeted his mother with a peck on the cheek before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“What’s the special occasion?”

Harry popped her head around the corner then, her wild curls dancing as she bounded into the kitchen.

“Umm … your game tomorrow? We always make a roast the night before a big game.”

“Ah, right,” John said, frowning. He’d completely forgotten the rugby match the next day.

“Are you alright, John?” Harry asked, stepping forward to place the back of her hand against John’s forehead. “It’s not like you to forget a game.”

John ducked away from her hand and dodged her attempts to take his pulse, swatting her hands away with a laugh.

“No roughhousing in the kitchen!” Mrs. Watson warned, pointing a chopping knife at them. Her tone was crisp but there was laughter in her eyes, so John wasn’t very afraid. Harry let out a dramatic sigh and flounced off back to her station, gingerly taking the knife from her mother’s hand to begin chopping more potatoes.

John retrieved his book bag from where he’d left it and went to his room to complete the homework he would have already finished had he not been playing ‘tutee’ with Sherlock

His eyes caught sight of the Chemistry book sitting in his bag and he felt his lips curve into an absurdly stupid grin. The smile soon vanished from his face, however.

What was he supposed to do now that the tutoring façade had been shattered? Was he supposed to just approach Sherlock at his locker and ask him out? Would that be too forward? Would he be moving too fast? He didn’t seem to have many other options.

John spent the entirety of dinner trying to work out a game plan. While Harry was busy telling their mother about how great her new friend Susan was, John was busy running though scenarios in his head. He considered inviting Sherlock to his game the next afternoon, but Sherlock had declined his previous invitation to watch practice. Though, that was before the tutoring sessions and the lovely walk to Sherlock’s home. Perhaps Sherlock would be more amenable now…

By the time John arrived at school the next day he was still without a solid plan of action. He didn’t even know what to say to Sherlock. It didn’t matter though because Sherlock wasn’t at his locker. John stood and waited with his hands stuck into his pockets for what felt like an eternity, but Sherlock never showed. After a while John began to feel silly waiting for a person who may or may not show up when he didn’t even know how he would react if Sherlock appeared. He decided to take Sherlock’s absence as a blessing of more time to think and left with his head ducked down to go to his first class of the day.

John didn’t see Sherlock until he walked into the cafeteria later that day. Sherlock’s eyes immediately rose to meet John’s the moment he stepped through the door and widened when he noticed John was walking towards Sherlock’s table and not his usual seat.

“Um, hey.”

“Hello, John.”

John couldn’t help but notice the pleased tone in which Sherlock greeted him. Sherlock ignored the curious looks the girls at his table were giving him and continued to focus on John, who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable by the second.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The girl sitting across from Sherlock at the table stifled a laugh with her hand and Sherlock sent a glare in her direction before returning his attention to John, his eyes much softer. John cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I, uh, just wanted to thank you for lending me your driver yesterday.” John tried to offer Sherlock a smile, but he wasn’t sure how it turned out. “Though, I must say he’s a much better driver than a conversationalist.”

Sherlock covered his mouth with his hand then, obviously hiding a smile, and the girl with the sleek black hair who laughed earlier chuckled again.

“Okay Sherlock we must know … who is this friend of yours?”

Sherlock gave her a puzzled look. “Friend?” Sherlock paused to look up at John and his expression softened. He shrugged. “I suppose he’s something close to that.”

“Just, ‘close to’?” the girl cut in, the disbelief evident in her voice as she stared between the two boys. John felt his own face heat up and a quick look at Sherlock revealed that he was blushing too. She saw the looks on their faces and her smile widened as she continued. “I mean, he said you lent him a driver, which meant he was at your house at some point, and that he left at a time that wouldn’t be safe to walk home alone. You're not the type to invite mere acquaintances over.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “That is correct. Good observational work, Irene.”

The girl preened at Sherlock’s praise, then went back to eating her lunch. It seemed for them the awkward moment had passed, but John was left still feeling very uncomfortable, questioning whether or not he should stay.

Then one of the other two girls turned towards John, fixing him with a teasing smile.

“So,” she said in a distinct Scottish accent, “does this mystery almost-friend of Sherlock’s have a name?”

“John. John Watson.”

“Ah, you play rugby right?” the third girl at the table asked. She had mousy brown hair pulled into a side ponytail that she toyed with as she spoke. “My friend Jim is on the team.” A brief look of annoyance flitted across Sherlock’s face at the mention of Jim’s name, but the girl continued speaking all the same. “You know Jim right? He talks about you every now and then.”

John nodded and glanced over at the table where his team sat. Almost every pair of eyes was on him. “Yeah, I know him.”

“Would you like to join us?” the girl asked. John looked to Sherlock, who shrugged and waved his hand in the direction of the empty seat beside him. John sat down and placed his book bag on the floor beneath the table. He felt Sherlock nudge him with his elbow.

“John, this is Irene, Janine, and Molly,” he said, gesturing to each of the three girls in turn. John nodded to them in acknowledgement, then turned to Sherlock. He noticed there was nothing on the table in front of him.

“Sherlock, are you not eating _any_ lunch?”

“No.”

“But-”

“He never does,” Irene cut in. She folded her hands and rested them on the table where Sherlock’s lunch would have been. “Why do you think he’s so skinny?”

Sherlock’s face contorted into a strange expression and he made a noise that sounded like it could have been a laugh. “Very funny Irene.”

John rifled through his bag and pulled out a chocolate covered granola bar. “Here. Take this?”

“John-”

“Sherlock...”

Their eyes locked and John held the granola bar out further towards Sherlock, who shrank away from it and stared at the table. John sighed and his brow furrowed. “Sherlock Holmes. You won’t be skipping any meals on my watch.”

“And since when am I ‘under your watch’?”

“Since right now.”

Sherlock’s bottom lip was protruding and though it made him look adorable, John was beginning to lose his patience.

“Sherlock … ?”

“Fine.” Sherlock snatched the granola bar from John’s hand and unwrapped it. “But only to shut you up.” John watched with a smug grin as Sherlock angrily took a bite, not breaking eye contact as he chewed.

“Thank you.”

“Don’ fank me,” Sherlock said around a mouthful of granola. John nodded his head.

“Because you don’t do favours, right.”

It was then that John remembered he and Sherlock were not alone at the table. He glanced up at the row of girls before them who were all watching their interaction with enraptured smiles on their faces. He turned back to Sherlock, whose face was pink as he stared back at John.

John reached into his bag and pulled out a bag of crisps that wasn’t entirely crushed and opened it. He and Sherlock then ate in silence while Irene, Janine, and Molly discussed some new television show premiere. Overall the experience was nice, and with Sherlock's presence at his side John eventually felt his discomfort begin to fade.

Several minutes after finishing the granola bar, Sherlock grabbed his book bag and stood from his seat. He saw John’s inquisitive gaze and sent a meaningful glance at the door. Irene held a hand out towards John, catching his attention.

“Sherlock always goes to his locker a few minutes before lunch ends to avoid people during the break before classes.”

John turned his attention back to Sherlock, who seemed o be growing more impatient by the second.

“You know,” John said, standing, “that’s actually a good idea. Mind if I come with?”

Sherlock’s response was a snort and an eye roll before he turned and began walking. John grabbed his bag, said goodbye to Sherlock’ s… friends, he supposed … and hurried after him.

“So,” Sherlock drawled once they were alone in the hallway. “Have you come up with another excuse to,” he held up air quotes, “‘spend time with me’?”

John shrugged. “Not unless you’d like to come to my rugby match this afternoon.”

“I already told you I’m not a fan of rugby.”

“I would really love the support though.”

“Oh, John, don’t be so sentimental.”

“What about after, then? I might want someone to celebrate the win with, or help distract me from the crushing defeat.”

“Don’t you have a team for that?”

“I do, but I can’t say I would mind spending the time with you instead.” John didn’t look at Sherlock, but he could imagine the look on his face when he said that. He imagined the widened eyes, the parted lips, and the fluttering of his eyelashes as Sherlock struggled to comprehend John’s words.

They soon reached their lockers and John began opening his. He noticed Sherlock was still standing beside him, arms folded across his chest, making no move to do the same. John turned to him and said nothing, but raised an eyebrow asking the silent question, ‘what?’. Sherlock worried his bottom lip as he stared back at John, his fingers dancing along his forearms.

“Erm, well … “ Sherlock trailed off and began unlocking his locker. He pulled out a notebook and a pen and began scribbling something on the paper. He ripped the page out and held it towards John. On it was a ten-digit number.

“That’s my phone number. When your game is over … I guess you could contact me and I’ll let you know if I’m amenable to dealing with a sweaty, adrenaline crazed boy for a while.”

“We do take showers after games, you know.”

“Just take the paper before I change my mind.”

John snatched the paper from Sherlock’s outstretched hand and folded it while Sherlock put away the notebook. John made a show of putting the paper into the front right pocket of his jeans. Sherlock made a show of false exasperation, but John could see a hint of amusement dancing around the edges of his facial expression. Sherlock then closed his locker and spun on his heel, his footsteps echoing in the nearly empty hallway as he walked away.

Over the course of the day John’s thoughts continued to wander to the paper in his pocket. Even as he sat taking notes in Chemistry he found that his hand would occasionally wander down to rest over where the folded slip of paper was concealed.

Once, his friend Adam, who was sitting beside him, saw John’s hand wandering down to rest over where the folded slip of paper was concealed.

“Got an itch or something down there Watson?” he teased. John quickly moved his hand then, not making eye contact with Adam and instead glancing in Sherlock’s direction. Sherlock was smirking at him. It was clear he’d heard Adam’s comment when his eyes dropped and met John’s again. John didn’t look at anything other than his desktop and he made sure both of his hands were not resting anywhere near his pockets for the remainder of the class.

When the final bell of the day rang John gathered his things together without haste. He knew he had plenty of time to get to the locker room and suit up before he needed to be on the field for warm-ups. With one hand on the strap of his book bag and the other in his pocket toying with the folded slip of paper, he ambled through the hallways. He found Mike and Greg chatting just outside the back doors of the school and made a beeline for them.

“Hello!” he greeted them cheerfully. Mike’s answering grin was as friendly as it ever was, but Greg’s looked somewhat forced. John ignored it for the time being and hovered around them for a moment.

Eventually it came time for John and Greg to head to the locker room and they bid their goodbyes to Mike, who promised to stick around for the game. He brought up the possibility of the three of them going out afterwards and John only laughed awkwardly before excusing himself and Greg. He noticed Greg’s already terse expression become even more so when he and John began to walk away.

“Are you alright, Greg?” John asked, turning to him.

Greg nodded his head and lifted one shoulder in an awkward shrug. “Of course.”

“You’re lying.”

Greg cast him a sideways look and sighed. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t know … Maybe you have trust issues?”

John opened his mouth to respond, but by that time they had already reached the locker rooms and Greg used the crowdedness of the room to vanish before John could say anything. John stared in the direction in which Greg had walked for several seconds before shrugging and heading to his own locker. He would have to talk to Greg later, but for now there was a game to win.

Half an hour later John was fully dressed in his uniform and jogging out onto the field to join his team for warm-ups. He cast a quick glance out at the gathering crowd. He wasn’t looking for anyone, he told himself, just surveying the crowd. He saw Mike sitting in the second row of the bleachers between Sarah and one of the girls from Sherlock’s lunch table. Molly, was it? John wasn’t entirely certain if that was her name. Strange, he didn't know Mike knew her.

His mother and sister were on the front row as usual. They waved and Harry gave John a thumbs-up.

It was with a smile that John made his way over to join his team. Even as he stood in the huddle his eyes wandered over the crowd. He wasn’t looking for anyone, he told himself once more. Still, he couldn’t deny the sting of disappointment he felt when he failed to see a mop of curly brown hair in the stands.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to my lovely beta ravenscar!

John’s hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, but that would soon be remedied. There were only three seconds left in the game before he would be able to sprint to the locker room and take a shower. Then, he could text Sherlock. John had quickly moved past the pain of not seeing Sherlock in the crowd now that he knew he would be seeing him soon anyway.

When the final buzzer sounded, John ran to listen to the coach’s post-game speech. He allowed his mind to wander to thoughts of a certain curly haired boy with piercing grey eyes. Perhaps he was sitting in his room that very moment, eyes glued to his mobile device, waiting for John’s number to appear on the screen. Or rather, he had completely forgotten he’d even given John his phone number and was busy with an experiment. John pictured him hunched over a microscope, oblivious to the world around him as he buried himself in his work. Would he even hear his phone vibrate? Would it startle him into dropping a pipette onto the ground? Would he curse John for disrupting his experiment and refuse to answer his text, despite the fact that John couldn’t know what he was interrupting?

John felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, gently turning him and guiding him to the locker rooms. When he looked up he found himself staring into Sebastian’s smiling green eyes.

“You looked a bit out of it for a moment there, Watson.”

“Yeah, I suppose I was.”

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to come to our post-game celebration. Jim can’t host today so a few of us were going to head over to my house for a sleep over.”

“Oh, Seb, don’t call it a sleepover,” lamented Jim, whom John hadn’t even noticed approach them. “We’re not twelve year olds.”

“Well what else am I supposed to call a group of guys gathering at someone’s house to eat snacks and then spend the night?”

John nodded in Sebastian’s direction. “He does have a point.” They reached the locker rooms then and John held the door open for the other two boys. “And it does sound great but, I’ve already got plans for today. Maybe some other time?”

“But we were talking about playing truth or dare. You know how you love that game.”

John couldn’t deny he was disappointed to miss out on the game, but Sherlock came first in this situation. “I’m really sorry. I’d love to, really, but … I can’t.”

Sebastian nodded and gave John’s shoulder a squeeze before he left for the showers. Jim remained behind, watching John through narrowed eyes, an almost predatory grin on his face.

“I saw you and Sherlock at lunch today.”

“Yes, and?”

“Oh, nothing. Just … ” Jim didn’t finish his sentence, but rather slinked away to parts unknown. Most likely to find Sebastian, John figured. The two were nearly inseparable. John went to fetch his clothes from his locker, and checked to make sure the paper was still in his pocket.

When he emerged from his shower and dressed, the locker room was already thinning out. Sebastian, Jim, and a few other guys were just leaving. Sebastian threw up a hand as a goodbye, and John returned the gesture before turning to retrieve his phone from his bag. With his hands shaking from nervous anticipation of Sherlock’s response, John carefully tapped out a message.

_It’s John. Game’s over. Are you busy?_

The response came only seconds later.

_Do you know where Northlake is? – SH_

John had to think a moment. He’d heard of the park, sure, but wasn’t quite sure where it was. He knew Southlake was close to his home. He used to go there every summer with Harry and his father when they were younger. Surely Northlake wouldn’t be far from that. He sent another text.

_I think so. Might take me a while to get there._

_Take your time. –SH_

John pocketed his phone and turned to go. He met Mike and Greg on his way out of the locker room, nearly knocking Greg over in his haste.

“John!” Mike threw his arms out in greeting. ‘There you are! We were waiting for you.” Greg stepped forward then.

“We’re heading out to grab a couple of pasties.”

“Ah, well, you two have fun with that.” John tried to push past them, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Greg was watching him with his eyebrows raised.

“You don’t want to come with?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I’ve just already got plans.”

“With Sherlock, I’m guessing?”

John stared blankly at Greg. He’d never seen Greg look so … intense. His eyes were boring into John’s with such heat behind them John could feel his own eyes begin to burn. All he could do in response was nod his head. A look of something akin to disappointment crossed over Greg’s face and he released John’s arm, stepping back to let him pass by.

“I’ll catch up with you some other time!” John called over his shoulder as he went.

By the time John reached the park the sun had started to lower. It wasn’t quite a sunset yet, but it was close. When he reached the iron gates he stepped inside and looked around at the vast expanse of grass and general park amenities. To his left there was a playground with several children climbing on the equipment. Their parents stood off to the side talking amongst themselves while keeping an eye on the children.

To John’s right was a cluster of picnic tables. All of them were empty. Ahead of him, John could see the lake whose name John couldn’t remember, and a row of benches facing it. They were all empty but one, where a single figure sat alone. A figure with dark curly hair.

John approached the bench and circled around to face Sherlock, who greeted him with a small smile.

“Hello, John. So glad you could finally make it.” He gestured for John to sit beside him, which he did wordlessly.

They sat in silence for a while, simply gazing out over the lake and the sun as it began to set. Oranges and purples began to fill the sky, and were reflected in the water. The scene was overall very tranquil, and John almost didn’t mind that neither he nor Sherlock spoke. He was content for the moment to sit and watch.

“Did you win?” Sherlock eventually asked, breaking the silence.

“Hm?”

“The game.”

“Oh! Yes, we did.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

They sat silent for many more moments after that. It was strange, John would have thought that after a while the silence would become awkward, and that he would feel forced to fill the silence with mindless chatter that would no doubt make things worse. However, he felt perfectly at ease, and if the serene look on Sherlock’s face meant anything he felt so as well.

Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, exhaling with a sigh. John’s eyes were drawn to his face, to his raven curls tumbling down onto his forehead, and his closed eyelids which John knew concealed a pair of eyes more captivating than any he’d ever seen before. Sherlock looked amazing in the dim light, but John was starting to believe that Sherlock looked great in any light. He even looked great in the overbearing fluorescent lights at school. It only made sense that he would be breathtaking in this awe-inspiring natural light.

“So, why did you ask me to come here?” John asked with his eyes still glued to Sherlock’s face.

“I was already here when you texted,” Sherlock answered with his eyes still closed.

John gazed above them at the darkened sky. Some stars were already visible through the thin clouds. John watched them while he breathed in the scent of the cut grass and nearby flowers.

“This is a lovely place. I’m surprised I’ve never been here.”

“Not many people come up to Northlake. Southlake is the popular spot.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there many times.”

John thought back to his childhood summers, spent hanging off of the monkey bars and chasing his younger sister around in the grass. There were always people to dodge, and other kids to fight with over playground territory. Here, it didn’t seem like anyone would have that problem.

“Is this alright for you?” Sherlock asked, finally opening his eyes to watch John’s reaction. “Is there anywhere else you’d rather be?”

“No, this is great, I … ” John paused. An easy smile made its home on his lips. “There’s actually nowhere I’d rather be.” Sherlock blinked at him, and when he opened his mouth to speak he was silenced by the sound of John’s stomach churning. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until that moment. Perhaps he’d been too caught up in the scene around him and the boy sitting beside him to notice. Sherlock glanced down at John’s stomach with a smirk.

“You’re hungry.” Sherlock started to stand. “Come on, there’s a fish and chips shop not too far from here that stays open late.”

John stood and followed Sherlock out of the park, silently cursing himself for not eating earlier; He really would have killed to know what Sherlock was about to say.

While they walked Sherlock told John about the experiment he was starting. The only words John understood were ‘soil’ and ‘experiment’. Still, he walked beside Sherlock and listened with rapt attention as Sherlock became increasingly animated with each passing moment. The familiar light in his eyes had returned. John wondered how he’d been so lucky to witness such a beautiful sunset and a passionate Sherlock in the same day. The same hour, even.

They finally reached the place Sherlock spoke of and slipped inside to order. John suggested they eat at one of the tables outside, so he took his basket of chips and lead Sherlock outside. There, John ate while Sherlock watched him.

“You said you’ve been to Southlake.”

John made an affirming noise. “My father used to take my sister and me there all the time during the summer when we were kids. Harry and I hated waking up early, but we were up at the crack of dawn every Sunday begging our dad to take us. ” He noticed Sherlock watching him quietly with a strange expression on his face. “What?”

“Your face lights up when you speak about your father,” Sherlock observed. “You think very highly of him.”

“Well of course, but no more than any other boy does of his dad.”

“More than this boy,” Sherlock said, his voice almost a whisper. Sherlock’s lips curved into a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. John took his time chewing the chip he’d popped into his mouth to buy himself some time. This didn’t seem to be a very comfortable topic of conversation for Sherlock, but he seemed to be willing to continue.

“You … you’re not fond of your father, then?”

“My father and I have a … difficult relationship.”

For lack of anything to say in response, John grabbed another chip from his basket. He noticed Sherlock’s hand reaching out tentatively as well, not quite hovering over the basket. John used one hand to nudge the basket further towards the center of the table, and Sherlock took the hint. His eyes were once again bright when he looked up at John.

“My brother used to take me to Northlake every now and then. I always liked it better because there were fewer people, and he shares my aversion to crowds. It worked out well for us. I was able to feed ducks, play in the grass, try and catch bees, and my brother could just sit and watch or read a book. It was … nice, almost.”

“You have a brother?”

“He’s off at college now.” Sherlock sighed and turned his head, staring at something John couldn’t see.

“So he’s an older brother then.”

“Yes.”

John’s phone buzzed in his pocket, stealing his attention away from the conversation for a moment. “Sorry, one moment.”

He pulled his phone out and checked his messages while Sherlock took more fries from the basket. Greg had texted him, asking if he’d like to go see a movie the next day.

“Who is that?” Sherlock asked, leaning forward and trying to get a peek at John’s phone screen.

“My friend Greg. He wants to see a movie tomorrow.”

“And are you going to?”

“I suppose so, I’ve got nothing else planned.” John lifted his head and Sherlock guiltily averted his eyes. “What?” John thought about the slight distress in Sherlock’s voice when he’d spoken, and felt his lips stretch into a sly grin. “What, are you jealous that I’m making plans with someone other than you?”

“No, of course not.”

“You are!”

“Next topic, please.”

“Alright, alright,” John said, still smiling. This was great. Sherlock was actually _jealous_ of him spending time with someone else. He couldn’t believe it.

“I think I should get home soon,” Sherlock said abruptly. John took notice of their surroundings. The streetlights and the moon were now the only sources of light. Even the workers inside the fish and chips shop seemed to be preparing to close.

“I suppose it is getting late,” he said. “Will you be alright getting home?”

“I should be asking that of you. I can easily call Adkins if I need to. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t live too far from here actually. We used to walk to Southlake, and that’s not far.”

“But you forget it’s dark out. And you’d be alone.”

“I wouldn’t be if you came with me.” John stood and grabbed the basket of fries. “If you’re so concerned about my well-being, why don’t you walk me home?” Sherlock seemed to be considering it, but was still wavering. John took a step closer, not exactly crowding Sherlock’s space but not giving him much room to breathe either.

“Actually no, I’ll just ask. Sherlock, would you walk me home?”

John saw the twitch of Sherlock’s lips and knew he’d won. Ultimately Sherlock nodded his head.

“Fine.” He pulled out his phone. “What’s your address? I’ll tell Adkins to meet me there.”

John gave Sherlock the address to text to Adkins, and they set off down the street, walking side by side. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock tilt his head back.

“The stars are lovely, aren’t they?” he ventured, wondering if astronomy was perhaps another passion of Sherlock’s.

“Hmph.”

Suppose not, then.

“You know, since you are accompanying me on this journey home, you’ll probably end up meeting my mother… if she’s still up, that is.”

“What? Why?”

“She always loves meeting my friends.”

“Friends? So that’s what we are?” John turned his head then. Sherlock’s face wasn’t mocking; His question was genuine. John was at a loss for words. Hadn’t Sherlock called him his friend at lunch? He’d been to Sherlock’s house, they had each other’s phone numbers, they just met outside of school, and discussed their families, if only briefly. Surely that meant they were on friendly terms.

“Of course I think of you as a friend.”

Sherlock wrung his hands together and shrugged. “Well, I don’t exactly have the best track record with parents. I don’t know if meeting yours would be a great idea.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to. It was just a suggestion.” They turned a corner and finally made it to John’s street. When they were almost at his front door, John sucked in a breath. “Just for the record though, I’m sure she’d love you.”

He received no response, but he hadn’t really been expecting one. Sherlock seemed too preoccupied with whatever thoughts were running rampant through his mind to focus on anything else, and even continued walking after John stopped. John had to reach out and grab Sherlock’s arm to get his attention.

“This is my stop,” he said when Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll wait with you for Adkins to show up. You don’t have to come inside if you don’t want,” Sherlock nodded then, and turned to stare out at the road.

“This is … nice.” Sherlock gestured to the rows of houses around them. “Comfortable. Familiar.”

“Still nothing compared to your house though,” John countered. “Which, you have yet to give me a tour of. You owe me one, remember?”

“Yes, I do.” John couldn’t tell if the sparkle in Sherlock’s eyes was from his smile or the moonlight overhead, or a combination of both. All he knew was that if it weren’t incredibly weird, he would have loved to hold his phone up and get a picture of Sherlock in that moment to save forever.

The black Mulsanne eventually showed up, and they said their goodbyes with a simple wave and a smile each. John watched Sherlock climb into the back of the vehicle, then waved as it disappeared into the night. He wasn’t even sure if Sherlock saw, but he waved anyway until the vehicle, and Sherlock, were out of sight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the (very) delayed posting. Things were busy for both me and my beta. I hope you all will forgive me! :)


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ravenscar for being such a lovely beta!

John was able to sneak in undetected by his mother or sister, which he was actually thankful for. He knew he would have been subject to questioning as to why he was returning home so late for a third night in a row, and he knew his answer would only warrant teasing from Harry.

He changed out of his clothes and got ready for bed. He wasn’t supposed to meet Greg until noon, so he was able to stay up a few more hours to work on homework without worrying about being tired the next day.

When John met Greg at the theatre, he was greeted with a smile and a friendly hug.  They bought their tickets and settled in to watch the film, then sat in comfortable silence aside from the occasional laugh or whispered comment between them. When the movie was over Greg proposed they go out for lunch, and that was equally as pleasant as the movie. They chatted more about the movie, about school, about the game, and about anything else that came to mind.

Greg was behaving completely different from how he’d been for the last week. Though John didn’t know what had been the cause of Greg’s sour disposition lately, he was glad that it seemed to have passed. John hadn’t realised how much he missed his friend until now.

He accompanied Greg back to his house for a few rounds of video games before he had to return home.

“This has been really fun, Greg,” John said as he was preparing to leave. “It feels like it’s been forever since we’ve hung out, just the two of us.”

“That’s because it has been.”

John wasn’t sure if that was meant to be joking or not, but he gathered from Greg’s downturned mouth it wasn’t something he meant to sound lighthearted.

“I…”

“How was your outing with Sherlock yesterday?”

Greg was trying to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably. Still, John decided to go along with his attempt at a casual conversation.

“It was good. Really good, actually. He’s actually a great sort to spend time with.” John chuckled. “Once you get used to him.”

Greg nodded and busied himself with shutting down his gaming system. “So when do you think you’ll be done with this dare?”

“What dare?”

Greg immediately stopped moving and slowly lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at John, who could do nothing but stare wide eyed back at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You do remember Jim’s dare right? The only reason you started talking to Sherlock?” Greg put down the controllers he’d been holding and moved towards John. He didn’t have far to go in the small room, and John immediately felt cornered.

All of a sudden it hit him. The party, truth or dare, Jim’s malicious grin and the feeling of dread his dare originally gave him. How had he managed to forget all about that?

Easy, he told himself. He got caught up in the whirlwind that is Sherlock Holmes. He forgot about everything when he was with Sherlock. School, rugby, the dare that lead to their association … It all faded into the background when John looked into Sherlock’s eyes.

“Oh my god.”

“You actually forgot about it?” Greg asked incredulously. “Then why have you been spending so much time with him?”

After several long silent moments, John realized he wasn’t able to give Greg an answer. Why had he found himself so drawn to Sherlock? Why was it that he managed to forget something so major, and still feel a need to be around Sherlock?

“I don’t know. I … I’ll just go now.”

“Yes, I think you should. ” John froze when he heard the venom in Greg’s voice. Slowly, he turned to face him. His face was flushed, and John could see his eyes reddening.

“… Greg?”

“No, it’s fine. You’ve obviously got some thinking to do. S-Some things to work out. I understand, really.” Greg turned away from him and resumed straightening up his room. “I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

John found himself rooted to the spot. He realized he’d obviously upset Greg, but he wasn’t sure how, and he certainly wasn’t sure what to do to make amends. He could leave like Greg asked, but he didn’t want to; It would feel like abandoning his friend. But he’d already been dismissed. Would it be rude to remain when Greg made it clear he was no longer welcome?

John stood and watched Greg. He was now standing still as well with his back turned to John, head bowed. It was very likely that Greg didn’t even know John was still there.

John’s footfalls were soft on the carpet as he walked towards Greg. He reached out a cautious hand and laid it gently on Greg’s shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Greg didn’t answer. John felt some of the tension leave the room, though he left with a strange feeling still looming over him. He spent the rest of his day trying to shake it off. He then spent all of Sunday trying to figure out what to do about the dare, more specifically about Sherlock.

First he passed on an opportunity to play truth or dare, a game he loved, to spend time with Sherlock. Then, he turned down an opportunity to be with his best friends because he wanted to be with Sherlock. In fact, John was starting to spend almost all of his free time with Sherlock and he had no idea why, if the dare had so easily slipped his mind. 

John came to the conclusion that he hadn’t really forgotten about the dare. It had always been there, in the back of his mind. That’s why he felt so drawn to Sherlock. That was why he wanted to be around him. It was simple, really.  He just had to get his head back fully in the game. He'd already made _some_ progress. He could only imagine the damage he could do when fully focused on his task. 

John was feeling rather confident when he approached Sherlock at his locker Monday morning. He strove to keep his mind clear and his thoughts straight when Sherlock smiled at him, and was mostly successful. He still couldn’t keep from stammering when he spoke.

“Um, listen, Sherlock. I’m … I think I’m going to sit in my usual seat today at lunch.”

A brief flicker of something passed over Sherlock’s face, gone too quickly for John to discern what it was. He closed his locker and leaned against it, fixing his eyes to John’s face.

“Alright.”

“It’s nothing against you or your friends.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I just … I need to talk to Greg.”

“Oh.” Sherlock shifted and folded his arms across his chest. “From the movies?” John nodded. “How was that, then?”

“The movie was great. It’s just what happened after that…” John didn’t allow himself to finish his sentence. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t care about a silly incident between friends. Yet, when he looked up at Sherlock he saw that his attention was fully on John. “It’s nothing. I just want to check up on something.” He closed his locker then and turned to face Sherlock. He tried to put his best foot forward, literally, by taking a step closer to Sherlock and staring up at him through his eyelashes. “I’m free after school though, if you’d like to do anything.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement. “I do still owe you a tour.”

Their eyes locked and remained that way for a seemingly immeasurable amount of time. John only looked away when the bell rang to see the nearly empty hallway. He looked back at Sherlock and gave an apologetic shrug. “I’ll see you after school?”

Sherlock bowed his head, then turned and left. John watched him walk away, then turned to go in the opposite direction, not catching the glance Sherlock threw him over his shoulder.

When John approached his table that day they greeted him as they always did. His seat had been left empty and for a moment John was touched that they’d left space for him while he was gone.

Greg was sitting at the far end of the table, staring down at his food with a frown. Sebastian sat across from John, talking a mile a minute about something John didn’t care enough about to pay attention to. Jim sat beside Sebastian, eyes flickering between Sebastian’s face and John’s. Things could be worse, John supposed. Though, he’d really been hoping for Greg to be sitting in his normal seat beside him. Why had he moved? The only reason John wanted to sit at this table was to try and smooth things over with Greg.

He spent his entire lunch trying to catch Greg’s eye, but he never even looked in his direction. It was only when the bell rang and Greg stood up to leave that John was able to speak to him. He caught up with him as he was leaving the cafeteria.

“Look, Greg. I don’t exactly know what … happened between us? But whatever I did, I’m sorry and I promise once this dare is over everything will be back to normal. Alright?”

Greg remained silent as they walked, but he only looked pensive rather than upset. John followed him to his locker, where Greg turned and leaned back against the metal door. He watched John through half-closed eyes while he fidgeted in front of him.

“Look,” he finally said, dropping his head. “I’m sorry, John. I might have been a bit short with you Saturday and I was out of line.”

“No, I’ve been a terrible friend. I-”

“Look, we can stand here apologizing to each other all day, but I’ve got class to get to and you haven’t even been to your locker yet so how about this: I forgive you, you forgive me. Now we move on like nothing ever happened.”

“Sounds great,” John said with a smile. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

With that weight lifted from his shoulders John turned and left.

The rest of his day passed like any other. John sat in his classes and he took notes. He said hello to friends in the hallway, and even received a nod from Greg as he passed him on his way to his locker after school.

Sherlock was obviously waiting for him. His locker was closed and he wore his book bag on one shoulder using his other hand to secure the strap in place. John caught himself staring stupidly at Sherlock’s friendly smile and mentally kicked himself.

No more getting distracted. He had a mission to accomplish. That was it. It didn’t matter how soft Sherlock’s hair looked or how smooth his skin was when his hand brushed against John’s when they walked down the hallway. All that mattered was that John got this dare good and over with so he could go back to his normal life – a life that consisted of nothing but rugby, school, and his usual friends. His life before Sherlock.

A life _without_ Sherlock.

John ignored the twist in his gut he felt when the thought crossed his mind that Sherlock was not to remain a permanent fixture in his life. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to go back to a life without the curly haired genius beside him, his snarky remarks, his brilliant mind and brilliant eyes to match. Perhaps they could remain friends after the entire ordeal was over. Perhaps the ‘ordeal’ didn’t have to happen only once.

What was the term, ‘friends with benefits’? Could he and Sherlock be that?

No, John thought. There was no way Sherlock would be up for that. Besides, now was not the time to think about what he’d do after completing the dare. He had to focus on what to do _now_ to make sure he actually carried it out. So he allowed his hand to brush against Sherlock’s again, and he held the door open for Sherlock when they got to the library.

Wait, library? When had they gotten here? Why weren’t they on their way to Sherlock’s house?

“Sherlock?” John asked when they reached a table. Sherlock looked up from where he had begun to pull supplies out of his bag. “Why are we here?”

“I was under the impression you wanted to spend time together after school.”

“Yeah, at your house.”

“I always come to the library after school. Until 4:30.”

“Ah.”

“If you’d rather go elsewhere you can just meet me-“

“No I’ll stay,” John cut in. “I’ll stay.”

At least this way he could get some work done and not have to worry about it when he returned home at what he guessed would be late that night.

They were sitting close enough for John to feel the heat radiating from Sherlock’s body. It was strange, Sherlock’s appearance and general demeanour would lead one to believe he was cool to the touch, yet John could sense that wasn’t true. Sherlock’s skin was no doubt warm like any other person’s. John desperately wished to be able to reach out and feel it himself.

Sherlock looked up from his work and quirked an eyebrow. Had John been staring? He hadn’t realized. Nonetheless, this was a perfect opportunity to make some headway with this dare. In a perfectly calculated move, John allowed his tongue to slowly drag along his bottom lip. Sherlock’s eyes dipped down to follow the movement, and when his eyes met John’s again John noticed how his pupils had grown wide. John glanced down at Sherlock’s lips, at how they formed a perfect cupid’s bow, and licked his lips again.

Then he turned back to the book he’d been pretending to read. Sherlock sat still for several moments after that, but eventually shook his head and began working again.

John smiled to himself and hid his face behind his book. He’d taken control again. And now, he was determined not to lose it.

 

 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to ravenscar for being a lovely beta!  
> Also a small shout out to Misty/shezzabatch for putting up with my shampoo and cologne talk. :)

The remainder of their time in the library was spent with John struggling to keep his mind focused on the work in front of him and not the boy sitting beside him, whose shampoo and cologne mixed to create an incredibly intoxicating aroma. Several times John found himself unconsciously leaning towards Sherlock, his eyes closing as he breathed in the delightful mix of coconut and vanilla. Thankfully Sherlock never noticed the deep breaths John took. Or if he did he said nothing about it.

Soon enough four thirty came around and Sherlock rose from his seat. “Let’s go.”

John gathered up his things and walked with Sherlock to the door, which he held open just enough for Sherlock to squeeze through. For a brief moment they were pressed together from chest to thigh, and John was sure he would have been able to see the resulting blush on Sherlock’s cheeks from a mile away.

When they reached Sherlock’s house, John was led up the stairs and down a hallway. Sherlock stopped in front of a dark wooden door and reached to open it. John didn’t realize he was holding his breath until after he’d stepped through the doorway.

“So this is your room.”

It wasn’t a question, but Sherlock answered anyway. “Why else would we be in here?”

Rather than dignify Sherlock’s comment with a response, John remained quiet and took a look around the room.

“I’m just going to make a guess here and say blue is your favourite colour.”

“What makes you think that?”

John could hear the smirk in Sherlock’s voice. He motioned to the blue curtains hanging in front of the window on the far side of the room, the blue area rug that covered a majority of the wooden floor, and the royal blue duvet that sat atop Sherlock’s bed, nearly buried beneath the multitude of blue throw pillows. “I could be wrong, though I don’t think I am.”

When he turned around to face Sherlock his eyes were bright and shining. John soon found the smile in Sherlock’s eyes mirrored on his own lips.

“You’re not the only one with deductive powers, you know.”

Sherlock bowed and held a hand out towards the room. “Very well then. Please, do continue.”

John saw the challenge; he heard it in Sherlock’s tone of voice. With his chin lifted into the air he turned back to the room, eyes scanning over the various knick-knacks and clutter.

“You read a lot.” John nodded towards the overflowing bookcases. “You’ve got an instrument case on your bed. Looks too small to be anything other than a violin. I’m guessing you play?” John turned to Sherlock who nodded his head once. John turned back to the room. “You’ve got several Chemistry related posters, but I already knew that’s what you plan to study in Uni.” John’s eyes were drawn to the metal desk across the room. A microscope and several test tube racks sat atop it. “That’s where you do your experiments. And that,” he pointed to a wooden desk across the room from the metal one “is where you …” John saw what appeared to be a human skull sitting on a corner of the desk. “… study anatomy?”

“Hm?” Sherlock came forward to stand beside John and followed his line of sight to the skull. Something that resembled a laugh escaped from his lips and he shook his head. “Well, not really. That’s Billy. He’s a … friend of sorts.”

“You have a skull as a friend?”

“He keeps me company.”

“What about Molly or Irene? Or Janine? Certainly your friends would be better company than a disembodied skull.”

“They’re only my friends when I need them to be.”

John pulled his book bag from off of his shoulders and furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, Molly is Principal Hooper’s daughter. It’s proven advantageous to me in the past to have someone like her on my side.”

Sherlock waited for John to find a place to leave his book bag, then turned to leave the room. John followed him out into the hallway. “Get into a lot of trouble then?”

“Not a lot. Would be more if it weren’t for Molly.”

“And what about Irene and Janine?”

“Irene was useful once upon a time. She proved herself valuable getting certain people to stop pestering me.”

“You mean she hung around you and made girls stop asking you out?”

“… Sure.” Sherlock placed a hand lightly on John’s back to usher him downstairs. “Janine showed up about a year after I met Irene. Irene took a liking to her and because I wasn’t done with Irene yet, Janine became a member of the little group. It also wasn’t terrible that she has connections outside of the school that have helped me obtain certain materials for experiments in the past.”

“Do you have any friends that you’re friends with just because you like _them_ and not just what they can do for you?”

“Well, I’ve got you, don’t I?”

Had John still been walking down the stairs he surely would have tripped and fallen to the story below. As it was, he simply stood at the bottom of the stairs and smiled up at Sherlock who continued to descend.

“Yes,” John said, making sure to catch Sherlock’s eye, “you do.”

Sherlock smiled, but nothing more on the topic was said, and the tour began. They started in the stately dining room, then Sherlock lead John into the “living room” which only contained two loveseats, a coffee table, and a television set, all new and seemingly untouched. The room looked anything but lived in. John tried to picture a family gathered around the television like he, his mother, and his sister often were, but found it nearly impossible. The room more closely resembled a ghost town than anything.

The study however was much more impressive. Everything was clean, but from having been recently dusted, not from never having been used like the furniture in the living room. A large, Victorian desk was on the far side of the room, ceiling high bookcases lined the walls and a grand piano was in a corner near the door.

“Do you play?” John asked with a quick nod in its direction. He remembered the instrument case on Sherlock’s bed amid the sea of blue. He wouldn’t be surprised if Sherlock were some sort of musical prodigy in addition to being an academic genius.

“Not in a while, no. I don’t come down here very often.” John followed Sherlock into the kitchen, where Sherlock leaned against a counter and tapped his chin with his finger.

“I’m afraid there’s not much else to show you, unless you’d like to see the three bathrooms we have. My brother’s and my father’s bedrooms are off limits I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine. You’ve been a lovely tour guide.” Sherlock pushed himself off of the counter. “Shall we return to you room then?” Sherlock sucked in a breath, and John’s head snapped up to look at him.

“Not yet. There is one other room I can show you.” He turned and ushered John upstairs and down a hallway in the opposite direction of his bedroom with a hand pressed lightly against John’s back. He opened a door and John was immediately taken aback by the sight before him.

The room was bathed in golden sunlight streaming in from large bay windows on two of the walls, casting shadows over every surface and filling the room with a warmth that could only come from a natural source.

The room was sparsely furnished, but unlike the rest of the house it didn’t look barren. There were black wicker chairs set up in the centre of the room, and in one corner was an assortment of plants of various sizes and colours.

“This is nice,” John remarked. “Very nice.”

“It was my mother’s favourite room in the house. And apparently it was my playroom for the first two years of my life.” Sherlock pointed to a pile of stuffed animals almost hidden in a corner of the room that no sunlight touched. John was so concerned with taking in the sight of the room and the view outside the window that Sherlock’s words almost flew by him.

“This was her favourite room?” Sherlock nodded. “Was?” Sherlock nodded again. John was still debating how to continue the conversation when Sherlock sighed and backed out of the room.

“Yes, John. Past tense. And before you ask, no, my mother isn’t dead. At least I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“John must you repeat everything I say? You’re not a parrot.”

“May I ask what happened?”

“You may, but I can’t give you an answer.” Sherlock shut the door and turned to face John. His face was neutral, and the expression was unforced. Sherlock wasn’t acting like this didn’t bother him. It genuinely didn’t.

“You don’t know what happened to her?”

Another sigh. “All I know is that one day when I was two years old she left to run errands and never came back.”

“Oh, Sherlock, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It’s alright, really. I don’t remember anything about her so there’s nothing to miss.” They began walking again. John wracked his brain for a more pleasant topic of conversation, but all he could think about was how nonchalant Sherlock treated the disappearance of his own mother. John knew even if he was too young to remember his mother, if he’d had to grow up not even knowing where she was …

Then again, Sherlock wasn’t like him. He didn’t take stock in emotions like sentiment or grief. John supposed that was a good thing in this case. John wondered if his mother’s disappearance was perhaps the reason why Sherlock so often seemed disconnected from his emotions.

“So, while we’re on the subject of absent parents,” Sherlock started, drawing John away from his thoughts, “what happened with your father?”

“Hm?”

“Yesterday you were speaking about him, and though the nostalgia in your eyes could have been just that, the look of someone thinking back on a happy time, it seemed like there was something more there. As if you were thinking back on a _happier_ time. And when I walked you home you made mention of me meeting your mother, but only her. I assume that means your father isn’t around?”

John cleared his throat. “Well, no, he’s not. He’s in the military, you see. He’s stationed in Afghanistan. Has been for almost three years now.” John sighed. “I do miss him sometimes, but I know he’s out there doing good, and it makes it a little easier.”

John felt a pressure on his back once more, firmer this time. He realized it was Sherlock’s hand, offering what John believed to be a consoling gesture. He looked to Sherlock and smiled. Sherlock’s face remained stoic, but he dipped his head in acknowledgement of John’s thanks.

When they reached Sherlock’s room John immediately went inside, but Sherlock remained standing just inside the door.

“I wish I had a television or something in here to serve as some sort of entertainment for you,” he said. John took a look around at the eclectic gathering of books and knick-knacks and turned back to Sherlock with his lips stretched into a wry grin.

“You’re all the entertainment I need.”

Sherlock gave him a coy smile in response. “What would you like to do, then?”

John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him into the room. Sherlock kicked the door closed with his foot, and then strode to sit on his bed. John hovered near him, debating whether to join Sherlock on his bed or grab the chair from his desk, when Sherlock sighed and motioned to the empty space beside him. Sherlock then flopped back onto his bed and looked to John.

John thought for a moment, considering the possibilities. Sherlock had already invited John to sit on his bed. Would that invitation be extended to more than just sitting? He could try being extremely forward and laying down beside Sherlock. He could “accidentally” move a hand too close, or initiate some kind or bodily contact another way, but was he ready for that? More importantly, how would Sherlock respond? Would he be as skittish as John guessed? Perhaps there was a way for them to become more familiar with each other in another way first.

“What about your violin?”

John nodded to the small instrument case sitting on the bed not far from Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock reached to grab the case and set it gently in his lap. He opened the case, and John leaned in closer to get a better look. He stopped moving when he could feel Sherlock’s hair begin to tickle his ear. John didn’t know much about violins, or any classical instruments for that matter, but he could tell the instrument was top notch. It looked smooth, glossy, begging to be touched, to be handled. John resisted the urge. Just from the way Sherlock was looking down at the instrument he could tell the action wouldn’t be well received.

Sherlock carefully lifted the violin from its case. Until that moment John had guessed Sherlock’s most prized possession would be something like his microscope, or perhaps even his mind. But now, John could tell that this violin meant the world to Sherlock. He was cradling the instrument as a mother would her child. It was clear that Sherlock loved his violin. John now wanted more than anything to hear him play. He could only imagine the sweet melodies Sherlock could produce.

“It’s lovely.”

Sherlock gingerly placed the violin back in its case and closed the latch. “I know.”

“Is there any chance that you’d play it for me?” John asked, hopeful. Sherlock regarded him for a moment, his expression somewhere between cautious and distrusting.

“Perhaps someday, if you’re lucky.”

It was certainly better than a no.

 

* * *

 

“What is the best dream you’ve ever had?” John asked from where he sat on the floor at the foot of Sherlock's bed.

The violin had long since been returned to its case and the case now rested beside Sherlock on the bed. After showing him his prized instrument Sherlock had offered to give John a more in depth tour of his room. It was an offer readily accepted. Sherlock showed John several of his favourite books: two about chemistry, one on apiology, and a few about criminology and forensics. He showed John the remnants of previous experiments. John could have sworn he'd seen a severed thumb in one of the jars, but said nothing. 

Once John had seen everything there was to see in Sherlock's room they'd returned to the bed and collapsed. John had no idea how he'd ended up on the floor, nor did he know when Sherlock had moved so that his head was hanging over the edge, just beside John’s face. All John knew was he liked the way Sherlock’s hair tickled his cheek.

Sherlock thought for a moment before responding. “I’d have to say it was this one where I snuck onto a crime scene. I remember looking over the body, and I remember I had just figured out the cause of death when I saw someone fleeing the scene. It was the murderer, of course. I chased after them, and I can still remember the wonderful feeling it gave me when he climbed up a fire escape onto a roof and I followed right after him.”

John could hear the excitement plain in Sherlock’s voice. It seemed he was an adrenaline junkie as well. John filed that information away for later, then started to turn his head, stopping when he felt his nose bump into Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock stopped speaking abruptly, and for a moment John feared he’d somehow made some sort of mistake. That possibly Sherlock wasn’t aware of their proximity until then and now would move away. John silently cursed himself.

He felt Sherlock shift before there was the solid weight of something pressed against his temple. He knew immediately Sherlock had moved over just enough for their heads to be pressed together. It was strange how such a small and simple gesture, such a seemingly insignificant touch could cause his heart to beat so much faster.

He drew in a shaky breath and tried not to move his head. “Your turn to ask a question.”

“That was question number twenty.”

“Was it?” Sherlock yawned in response, and John pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “It's getting late. I should probably head home.”

Sherlock made a sound that almost sounded disappointed, and John’s stomach did a flip at the thought of Sherlock not wanting him to leave. He began to stand up and Sherlock watched him as he grabbed his book bag and slung it over one shoulder. “Would you like a ride home?”

“I think I’ve got enough for a bus ride.”

“Nonsense. Come now.” Sherlock climbed off of his bed and went to the door. He called for Adkins, who fortunately had not left yet for the evening and Sherlock arranged for John to be taken home.

John stood beside the car with his hand shoved awkwardly into his pocket. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet, but he knew it was time to. He sighed. “This was fun. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

Sherlock lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and fixed his eyes on John. “I’m free tomorrow.”

A smile broke out on John’s face. “And I don’t have practice.”

Sherlock smirked in response. It seemed a mutual understanding had been reached, so John climbed into the car and waved at Sherlock out the window as it pulled out of the garage.

And from there a routine began. Every day John sat with his friends at lunch to chat with Greg, and once the school day was finished he would meet Sherlock at their lockers and head to the library. Whether John got much homework done in the time they spent there depended on how nicely dressed Sherlock was that day or how easy it was to smell his cologne or shampoo. Needless to say, John rarely got much done.

On the days he had rugby practice, John alternated between going out for a bit with his team or meeting Sherlock at Northlake. Several times John made the offer of Sherlock joining him and his friends, and every time the offer was immediately rejected. John knew it was nothing personal, but he still couldn’t deny that he still wished to share some other aspect of his life with Sherlock, though he didn’t have much more to share with him other than his family and rugby.

John spent the weekends at Sherlock’s house, either in his room or in the sunroom, playing twenty questions or some other silly game. Every time they met John tried his hardest to be flirtatious, to make some sort of progress on his dare, and though his advances always seemed quite welcome, John always left feeling more like he’d been the one seduced rather than the one who had done the seducing. It was maddening, to say the least.

This went on for a few weeks until John decided he’d had enough. He was determined not to lose his head again. He needed to maintain control. One way to do that was to get Sherlock out of his element. Every time they met was either in neutral territory or Sherlock’s house, which was far from neutral. Even in neutral environments like the park or the library Sherlock seemed to have the home field advantage. But John knew just what to do to fix that: he needed to get Sherlock into his own home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry about the delay in posting guys! I had to do some rewrites and it took longer than expected. Hopefully no one hates me too much :)


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta ravenscar!

What brainpower John hadn’t already dedicated to rugby or school he spent trying to work out a way to get Sherlock into his home. John knew he couldn’t force Sherlock to come over, but just asking probably wouldn’t go too well considering the fact that Sherlock had rejected John’s first offer so summarily.

Perhaps he could trick Sherlock into coming. He could pretend he forgot something important at home and beg Sherlock to come with him to get it. Even if by some miracle John was able to pull off something like that, Sherlock still might simply wait outside. He had made it clear he had no desire to step inside his home, and though John didn’t really accept his reasoning he knew Sherlock wasn’t one to change his mind without proper persuasion. John knew if he could just get Sherlock to meet his mother everything would be fine. Sherlock might be uncomfortable during the first few visits, but John knew his mother wasn’t so intimidating that Sherlock would never want to return. John guessed Sherlock would eventually come to love spending time at his house. His mother was warm, sweet, and accepting. Sherlock had nothing to worry about. John’s mother automatically liked anyone John did, and John liked Sherlock. Very much so, God help him.

John and Sherlock tried playing Truth or Dare once, but after several rounds of Sherlock daring John to do something like recite a row from the periodic table or refusing to go through with any dare John gave him, they decided they were better off just playing twenty questions. Depending on what room they were in John would either sit on the floor at the foot of Sherlock’s bed or lie beside him on a pile of blankets they placed in the centre of the sunroom. As time progressed they began to spend more and more time in the sunroom. This was a development John had absolutely no aversion to. He would never admit it to anyone, but lying beside Sherlock with their arms pressed together was his new favourite pastime. Sometimes they watched the sunset through the large bay window before them. Sometimes they snacked on things Sherlock found in his fridge and talked, getting so deep into their conversation that neither boy noticed when the room grew dark. No matter what they did, John always found it hard to say goodbye, and it seemed Sherlock was growing less fond of his departures over time as well. John always saw the way his shoulders sagged when he stood in the garage and watched the car pull out.

As far as the dare went, John wasn’t so sure he was still making progress. Sure, the frequency of casual touches between them had grown significantly and John certainly felt like they’d become much more familiar with each other, but other than that and the occasional heated stare when their faces came too close, John wasn’t certain that he and Sherlock had grown close enough to try and move to new, more intimate, territory.

There was only one way to find out, though.

John made the decision to test the waters one Saturday afternoon while he and Sherlock were lying side by side on a sea of blankets on the floor of the sunroom. Afternoon was drawing to a close and the evening was just beginning to wrap the two of them in a warm embrace. John’s head was propped up on a pillow so he could stare out of the window at the sight of sunlight dipping further and further to hide beneath the horizon. Sherlock’s head remained flat on the floor, turned so he could watch John watch the sunset.

It was John’s turn to ask a question. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

Sherlock was silent for a moment. “To live or to visit?”

“Both.”

“You can’t do that. One question at a time.”

John sighed. “Fine. Visit.”

“France.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s not your turn anymore.”

John huffed, but smiled as he turned to Sherlock. “Fine then. Your go.”

Sherlock tilted his head back in thought while John gazed out at the sun once more. “What is your ideal future?”

“Ideal future?”

Sherlock heaved a dramatic sigh. “That _is_ what I asked.”

“Oi, that’s enough snark from you.”

“But I haven’t met my daily quota yet.”

The two boys giggled and John covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. He took a moment to consider Sherlock’s question.

“I suppose my ideal future would be to get my medical degree and become a doctor. I could save lives during the day and then come home to enjoy a nice meal and perhaps a movie before bed. Or crap telly.” Sherlock made a noise of disgust, then a heavy silence hung over them as John sensed Sherlock become increasingly agitated.

“Would – Do you see yourself eating that meal alone?” John thought about the various ways he could answer that question. Of course he didn’t mean alone, but with whom would he share that meal? He’d never really given it much thought.

For a moment John tried to imagine an older Sherlock sitting across the table from him. He tried to picture a full spread before them, but neither of them seemed the type for cooking. Instead he saw cartons of Chinese food spread out on the wood surface. It was almost scary how easily that picture came to mind.

 “Hey, wait,” John said, quickly crashing back to reality. “Your turn is over.”

Sherlock groaned and John smiled to himself, glad to have momentarily dodged that bullet.

Sherlock waved a hand in the air and let it fall back into the small space between them. His hand landed on top of John’s at first, but John felt Sherlock move his hand so it simply rested beside John’s. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t disappointed.

“Go ahead then,” Sherlock said. “Ask your question.”

“Why do you want to visit France?”

“I like it there. Everything France is known for I find myself to be quite fond of. The food, music, culture-”

“The romance?”

John flashed Sherlock a cheeky smile when he lifted his eyes. Sherlock’s mouth still hung open, though he produced no sound. After a moment Sherlock closed his mouth and averted his eyes.

“I wouldn’t know about all that.”

“What, you-”

“My turn to ask a question.” Sherlock turned on his side and propped his head up on his elbow, fixing John with a challenging stare. “Whom do you picture yourself sharing your meal with in your ideal future?”

John met Sherlock’s gaze but only briefly. “I um, well I always figured I’d be married.”

“And with today’s progressive society, that means you could be sharing your meal with either a male or female.” John tried to meet Sherlock’s eye but he ducked his head down.

Ah. So that’s what Sherlock was really curious about.

To be honest John had never given his sexuality much thought. He liked what he liked and it was as simple as that. If it happened to be a girl with bright green eyes and hair the colour of the morning sun so be it. If it happened to be a tall lanky genius with eyes like the sea and alabaster skin it made no difference. So far John had only dated girls, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t open to guys as well.

“Well, you’re correct,” John said slowly. “I guess it could be either a man or a woman.”

He tried to will Sherlock to lift his head and look at him and when he finally did, John tried to say with his eyes everything he wouldn’t with his lips, hoping Sherlock would get the message. If the abrupt disappearance of Sherlock’s eyebrows behind his fringe meant anything, the message had been received.

“Ah,” Sherlock said after clearing his throat. “Interesting.”

“My turn.”

Sherlock watched John and waited patiently for his question. John waffled on whether to push the issue of France and romance or not, after seeing how uncomfortable Sherlock was with the topic. He ultimately decided that knowing about Sherlock’s romantic history could prove very useful to him though, and decided to push forward.

“Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

“Oh John, don’t be so obvious.”

“You know me. You should be used to obvious by now.”

“I should be.” Sherlock sighed and shook his head. John clasped his hands together and rested them on his stomach, his eyes never leaving Sherlock’s face.

“I’m waiting for an answer.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on it’s not-”

“No, my answer is ‘no’.”

“Ah. That’s a shocker.”

“Is it _really_?”

When John looked over at Sherlock what he saw was not the arrogant, brilliant Sherlock he was used to. What he saw before him was an embarrassed boy, blushing because he had just revealed something very personal. John’s hand ached to reach out and smooth down Sherlock’s hair, or to gently caress his cheek and show him he had no reason to be ashamed.

“It is shocking. Someone like you never having been snatched up by anyone. I find it quite hard to believe. I mean look at you-”

John’s words died in his throat when he saw the look on Sherlock’s face. His pupils had grown to nearly twice their size and there was a light blush on his cheeks. There was a brief flash of pink as Sherlock’s tongue darted out to moisten his plump bottom lip.

“When was your first kiss, John?”

A smile immediately came across John’s face. “I was six. It happened in my backyard.” John’s mind immediately drifted back to what parts of the day he could remember. “I don’t remember much, mind you, except that it was quick, and our noses bumped a little too hard.” One of his hands slid from his stomach onto the floor, right beside where Sherlock’s lay. “Greg had-”

“ _Greg_?” John quickly turned his head to look at Sherlock.  What John saw on Sherlock’s face looked like pure astonishment, with perhaps a bit of betrayal. How was that possible?

Sherlock licked his lips again. “Your best friend Greg?” John nodded his head. “ _He_ was your first kiss?”

“Look, it meant nothing. We were six years old. And the reasoning behind it was so silly.” John could feel the rising tension in Sherlock and saw the need to calm him. He tried to explain as fast as he could without getting tongue-tied. “Right before he came to my house he’d seen his brother kissing his girlfriend. Of course, the curious little bugger that he was, he asked his brother why he was doing that with her. And his brother said when you like someone you kiss them. So Greg told me that because we were friends it meant we liked each other. Therefore, we needed to kiss. It was completely innocent. I assure you there’s no need for you to feel jealous.”

“I’m not-” Sherlock broke off and took in a deep breath. “It’s just a bit … weird that you’re still best friends with your first kiss and it’s entirely platonic.”

“Well, I assure you it is. I mean, think about your first kiss. Do you harbour any feelings for them?”

Suddenly Sherlock’s face became more flushed than it already had been and he averted his eyes. It took a moment before the realisation dawned on John. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet, have you?” Sherlock’s headshake was so minute John almost didn’t notice it. So, never been kissed and never been in a relationship. This new information settled like a rock in the pit of John’s stomach. “Ah, well. Never mind that then. Next question?” John smiled, hoping the awkwardness wouldn’t last.

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh.” John drew in a long breath and tried to think of something to ask Sherlock that would ease his tension. He needed to think of a question that couldn’t possibly end with a sad, embarrassed, or jealous Sherlock. “Oh, I know. What is your favourite thing about yourself?”

Sherlock didn’t reply for a long time. “I can’t answer that.”

John laughed. “Of course you can’t.”

Sherlock huffed. “Well I can’t, but not for the reason you’re probably thinking.”

“What?”

“You think I can’t because I’m extremely conceited and cannot possibly pick just one trait to be my favourite, when in actuality it’s the exact opposite.”

“You… Oh, come on. You’re telling me there’s nothing that you like about yourself?”

“Nothing really worth mentioning.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Sherlock sighed and flopped back onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “I like to think I’m a good actor.”

“Well, to be honest I was not expecting you to say something like that.”

“What were you expecting me to say, then?”

John could feel Sherlock’s gaze burning a hole into the side of his face. “Well, if I had to pick a favourite thing about you I’d probably go with … your mind. I mean, you’re so brilliant. No wait – your hair. No. Not that either. Um…” John’s mind was racing, his mouth struggling to keep up with all the thoughts of Sherlock that were now running rampant. “The way you carry yourself, or perhaps the way you dress. No, not that either. Hmm.” John brought his right hand up to stroke his chin. He glanced over at Sherlock, who was watching him with wide eyes, and suddenly John knew what his favourite thing about Sherlock was.

“Your eyes.”

Sherlock seemed to realise John had actually decided on an answer and after several blinks seemed to come back to himself. “My eyes?”

“Yes. Not only are they a gorgeous colour, but it’s like,” John paused to clear his throat. “When I look into your eyes I can see everything else I like about you. I can see the brilliance, the wit, how passionate you are about the things you love, everything. They say the eyes are the window to the soul and in your case that couldn’t be more true.”

John tried to focus on the colour of Sherlock’s eyes, to put a name to the strange colouration, but all he could see were Sherlock’s pupils, blown so wide only a thin rim of blue outlined them. John shifted, and his hand brushed against Sherlock’s. Holding his breath, never breaking eye contact, John moved his hand slowly until it was resting atop Sherlock’s. He felt the twitch of Sherlock’s fingers, heard the exhale of breath before there was the feeling of a hand closing around his and long, elegant fingers weaving through his own. It was crazy just how … right it felt.

John struggled to keep his head straight as he continued to stare into Sherlock’s eyes. “My turn to ask a question,” he said softly. “Why won’t you come to my house?”

John could feel the tension even in Sherlock’s fingertips. “John…”

“It’s not like I’m asking you to kick a puppy. I just want you to come to my house. Maybe stay for dinner. Meet my mum-”

“John-”

“I feel terrible for always eating your snacks, and you’ve paid for our meals out more times than I’m comfortable with. Let me repay you. Come to dinner at my house sometime.”

Sherlock sighed and gave John’s hand a slight squeeze. “I don’t-”

“I still owe you, you know.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “When you first agreed to tutor me we agreed I would owe you something. Let this be it: A nice, home cooked meal and a little bit of conversation.”

“I was to choose how you repaid me. And besides I figured that wouldn’t-”

“Sherlock. I know you’re just nervous about meeting my mother. I don’t understand why, but I know you are. But I’ll be right there with you. You’ve got nothing to worry about. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, or next week even. Just promise me that the next time I ask, you’ll say yes.” Sherlock worried his bottom lip between his teeth. John could see the apprehension creeping in, the rejection on the tip of Sherlock’s tongue. Desperate, John gave Sherlock’s hand a firm squeeze. “Please?”

Sherlock looked down at their entwined fingers and John watched as a slow blush began to creep across his cheeks. Finally, he nodded his head. “…Alright.”

John couldn’t keep the smile from his face. He gave Sherlock’s hand one more squeeze, which earned a shy grin from the boy, and then they turned their heads to finish watching the day become night.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock’s hand was warm in John’s own as they walked through the hall.  John had a game that afternoon and for once Sherlock had decided to accompany him to the locker room. He had made it very clear that he was only escorting John, not staying to watch his game, before he’d grabbed his hand and began dragging him down the hall.

“You know, one of these days I’m going to get you to stay.”

“Hmm. If you say so.”

John gave a tug on Sherlock’s hand, and tried not to think too hard about the fact that this was the first time they’d held hands since Sherlock’s sunroom three days ago, and that Sherlock had initiated it this time.

“What is it that you’ve got against rugby?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why won’t you watch me play?”

Before Sherlock could answer, they reached the doors of the locker room. Sherlock released John’s hand and turned to face him.

“Dinner later?”

“I don’t know. Depends on what the guys have planned.”

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes. He’d never been extremely fond of John’s rugby mates, and that was before they became John’s only reason for not spending as much time with Sherlock and he learned of the whole ‘first kiss with Greg’ thing.

“Right. I’ll just be off then.”

He turned to go, but John reached out and was able to grab his hand, keeping him close.

“Sherlock. I keep telling you, you have no reason to be jealous. Okay?”

Sherlock regarded him for a moment through narrowed eyes, but finally sighed and nodded his head. “Alright. Just text me.”

Slowly, John released his hold on Sherlock’s hand and watched him begin to walk away. Just as Sherlock disappeared from eyesight, John heard someone calling his name. He turned to see Greg jogging towards him with a bright smile on his face.

“You ready for the torture today?”

John scoffed. “Yeah, right. You’ve been running circles around the rest of us these last few practices. If anyone deserves the right to complain it’s me.”

“Actually, you’re wrong on that. You’re no less fit than I am.” John offered a small smile in response and opened the door to the locker room, leading Greg inside.

“So, do you know of any plans for after the game?” John asked Greg. He figured the sooner he could text Sherlock with an answer the better. He tried to be subtle about pulling his phone out of his pocket but he was almost certain Greg knew what he was doing. His eyes dipped down briefly before he shrugged and nodded his head.

“I heard some guys talking about heading to Tortilla or something to get a bite before heading to Jim’s. I know for sure Mike and Sebastian wanted to go. I think I’ll join them. What about you?”

“I’d love to go.”

Greg gave John a light pat on the shoulder before disappearing to go change. John pulled his phone all the way out of his pocket and found his conversation with Sherlock.

_Heading to Tortilla after practice. You’re welcome to come with._

_Will you be heading there alone? SH_

_Not exactly._

_Then I’ll pass. SH_

John sighed and started walking to where he kept his  uniform.

_Is it even worth begging you to come?_

_Not really. SH_

_Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow._

John pocketed his phone and started changing. His walk with Sherlock had cost him some time, as had his conversation with Greg. In his haste he got his head caught in his jersey, but thankfully was able to right himself before anyone saw. He began stuffing his clothes into his duffel bag and felt his phone vibrate as he did so. He heard the coach’s whistle blowing outside but he had to see what it was. He knew it was most likely Sherlock who had texted him. He unlocked his phone and went to check his new message.

_Have a good game, John. SH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologise for the irregular updating recently. And though I can't promise that it will become more regular or stay regular once it becomes so, I can promise that I will continue to update this fic until all parts have been posted. Just so you know, I won't abandon this fic. :)


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta ravenscar!

High on endorphins and giddy from the success of another well-fought victory, everyone was in high spirits as they gathered around the table with their food and drinks. John sat between Mike and Sebastian, with Greg sitting on the other side of Mike. Jim was across the table between Samuel and a boy named Archie.

The overall atmosphere was jovial and lighthearted, and John was more than glad to join in with the festivities. He had to admit as much as he loved spending time with Sherlock, he really liked hanging out with his rugby mates as well. They were always such a lively bunch. There were three different conversations occurring simultaneously at their table and John didn’t bother trying to keep up with any of them. He simply sat back and ate his meal while he watched his friends chatter amongst themselves.

“Hey, who’s up for some games when we get back to Jim’s place?” a voice called out. Immediately John felt his face flush. He remembered the last time he’d played Truth or Dare at Jim’s house. He remembered then that he still wasn’t finished with the first dare he’d received that night. The thought crossed his mind to text Sherlock but he decided against it and instead smiled at his friends.

“You all know I’m down.”

Cheers erupted from the group and after what only felt like several minutes John found himself in the back of Greg’s car while he and Mike chatted about an upcoming project in one of their classes. John’s fingers were itching for his phone but he restrained himself. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t be expecting John to contact him, but that didn’t make John want to text him any less.

He forced himself to focus on Mike and Greg’s conversation until they reached Jim’s house and he could focus on the game. As anxious as he felt, John had missed playing Truth or Dare and was ready to get back on the horse, so to speak.

They didn’t gather in Mr. Moriarty’s study like last time, but rather in a common room downstairs. There weren’t as many people present at this gathering as there were at the last one, which only made the setting more intimate. It didn’t necessarily bother John, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it either. He sat quietly for the first few rounds and observed his friends as they made fools of themselves. Mike did the chicken dance in the middle of the circle, and Sebastian had to reveal an embarrassing secret, which turned out to be the fact that he had a scar on his left arse cheek from when he was five and sat on a rather sharp pinecone.

It was Sebastian that gave John his first dare: to sit in the lap of either person beside him for five minutes. Between the choice of Mike and Jim, John chose Mike. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as John feared, thanks to Mike’s easygoing attitude.

John didn’t get another dare for several rounds, when Samuel dared him to do as many pushups as he could in a minute. Given the fact that upper body strength had never been his strongpoint and he was tired from playing rugby, John was proud of his thirty-one pushups.

All was going well, and John was just starting to really get into the game when he heard Archie call his name.

“Hey John, truth or dare?”

“Dare, of course.”

“I dare you … to ask your best friend out on a date.”

John’s eyes immediately went to Greg, who was staring helplessly back at him. John cleared his throat.

“Well, he’s sitting right here and has heard the dare, so there’s not much of a shock value is there?”

Archie thought for a moment. “True.”

“How about you ask out your closest friend who isn’t here?” Jim volunteered. John fought the urge to punch him and wipe that smug smile off of his face. He knew John didn’t have many close friends, and that Greg and Mike were definitely his closest. After them was … well … Sherlock. He groaned.

“Ugh, fine.” He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone.

“And you have to call them. So we can hear.”

The urge to punch Jim was steadily growing in strength. Still John put on a smile and unlocked his phone. He saw that he already had a text from Sherlock that had been sent a half hour ago.

_Did you win? SH_

Something warm blossomed in John’s chest and he couldn’t fight back the smile that threatened to take root on his lips. He remembered the group around him, quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression, and called Sherlock. He answered after the second ring.

“John? Why are you calling me?”

“Uh, would you believe me if I said I was too tired to text?”

A beat of silence. “I suppose that makes sense. So, did you win?”

“Uh, yeah we won.” John looked around at his friends’ enraptured faces. Surely the conversation didn’t warrant this level of scrutiny. Perhaps it was simply because everyone knew who was at the other end of the line. “Listen, I was thinking … you know how I said I wanted you to come to my house for dinner?” John paused to shush the tittering of his friends. “How about this Sunday?”

It took so long for Sherlock to answer John pulled his phone away from his face to check that he hadn’t disconnected. “What time?”

“Whenever works for you.”

“How does six sound?”

“That sounds great. Will you get a ride there or would you like me to stop by your house?” More tittering, and more shushing.

“What’s that noise, John?”

“The tv?” It sounded more like a question than an answer, but Sherlock seemed to accept it.

“Okay then. Anyway, I can have Adkins take me.”

“That’s great!” John yawned into the phone. “Look. I’m quite knackered so I’ll go now. But I’ll see you in school.”

“Alright. Goodnight John.”

“Goodnight.”

John hung up and let out a long breath. He glanced around at the faces around him and his lips pulled into a taut smile.

“Alright. Dare’s done.”

The game continued on without a hitch. While everyone else was engrossed with the proceedings, laughing together and having a good time, John was sitting back struggling with the feeling of melancholy that was looming over him. As he sat there, feeling more like a mere observer than a participant, John eventually came to the realization that this game just wasn’t as fun as it used to be.

Sherlock seemed to be in an abnormally good mood the next morning when John approached him. For a minute it even looked like he might hug John when he saw him.

“You seem mighty chipper,” John commented.

“Do I?” was all the response Sherlock gave.

Sherlock left soon after John arrived. The next time John saw him was after lunch when he and Greg were leaving the cafeteria. Sherlock appeared beside John as they walked, and nodded to Greg.

“Hello Greg. It dawned on me recently that we’ve never actually met. I just wanted to introduce myself.”

Greg’s eyes flitted back and forth between John and Sherlock for several moments before he cleared his throat and held a hand out for Sherlock to shake. “Nice to meet you Sherlock.”

“You too. John.” Sherlock shifted his attention to him. “What should I wear Sunday? I’ve never been to a Sunday dinner before.”

John almost laughed at Sherlock’s question, but fortunately he caught himself when he saw the look on his face. He supposed that laughing at his question most likely would not be an action well received.

“What you normally wear is fine. It’s not a fancy occasion.”

“Alright. Good.” He nodded his head. “Good, yeah. Okay, I’ve got to get to class now. I’ll see you after school?”

“Of course.”

“Right. Bye then. Once again, nice meeting you Greg.”

“Likewise!” Greg called after Sherlock’s retreating form. He turned to John. “He seems …” He made a series of vague hand gestures and John nodded.

“He’s not usually so … ” John shrugged. “I think he’s just nervous about meeting my mum.”

“Ah.” Greg continued to stare off in the direction in which Sherlock had left. “I suppose I would be too if I were in his position.”

“What is his position, exactly?” John asked, turning to Greg when he stopped in front of his locker. Greg lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. There was an easy smile on his face, so John didn’t feel the need to question further. Greg was only being slightly cryptic, which he could handle. At least, he could wait until later to deal with. For now, he had a class to get to.

That afternoon was spent with John lying on his back on Sherlock’s bed while he went through half of his wardrobe trying to pick an outfit for Sunday. John had never seen Sherlock so flustered. It was strangely endearing.

No matter how much John reassured him, Sherlock didn’t seem like he was going to calm down any time soon. Thankfully, by the time John left his house Saturday afternoon Sherlock wasn’t nearly as much of a mess as he had been. He was still a bit antsy though, which John understood. He was starting to feel a few flutters in his stomach as well.

John told his mother he was going to have a friend over the same day Sherlock had accepted his offer. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked so pleased. Harry’s teasing had started the next day.

John spent Sunday afternoon nervously pacing in the living room while his mother and Harry prepared their meal. Sherlock would be due to arrive soon and John still hadn’t formulated a solid game plan. Yes, Sherlock was going to be in his home but what then? John cursed his lack of planning until the very minute he heard the light tapping on the front door.

“I’ve got it!” he called out, nearly tripping over his own feet to get to the door before Harry. He would hate to see what would happen if his sister got a hold of Sherlock before he had the time to get him accustomed to the new setting.

He took a deep breath to calm himself before opening the door. The whole point of this excursion was to give himself the upper hand. That would be nearly impossible if he were to begin hyperventilating before they even got to the dinner table.

Sherlock stood before him with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked as pristine as ever, though still a bit nervous. His curls were not as wild as they usually were, as if Sherlock had combed some sort of product through them before coming over. The muscles in his neck were pulled taut and he was chewing on his bottom lip. Everything about his posture screamed uncomfortable, but there was a smile on his face the moment his eyes landed on John. John paused to take in the sight of Sherlock looking absolutely adorable before he managed a breathless “Hello”.

“Hi, John.”

“Is that him?” Harry called, peeking her head out of the kitchen. John didn’t answer her, but instead gestured for Sherlock to come inside.

“Dinner’s almost done,” he told him when he closed the door.

“It smells lovely.”

John beamed at Sherlock. “Come on, let me show you around before we meet my mum and sister in the kitchen.”

Sherlock visibly tensed and John reached out to place a reassuring hand at the small of Sherlock’s back. Though the tension didn’t leave Sherlock’s body completely, he did manage to give John a genuine smile before they began walking.

The tour didn’t last long. John showed Sherlock their living room, which thankfully was tidier than usual, and his bedroom, which was much cleaner than usual. Sherlock took a moment to peruse the various sports trophies and posters that served as decoration in John’s tiny bedroom before allowing John to drag him out by his hand into the hallway. He lead Sherlock through the dining room into the kitchen, where his mother was just pulling the roast out of the oven and Harry was sitting on a countertop swinging her legs and doing nothing to help Mrs. Watson like she’d said she would.

“Mum, Harry, this is Sherlock.”

Sherlock gave a small nod to each of them. “Nice to meet you both.”

Harry jumped down from her perch on the counter. “So you’re the boy that’s been stealing all my brother’s free time?”

“I…”

“Harry,” Mrs. Watson warned. She turned to Sherlock with a smile. “It’s so nice to meet another one of John’s friends.” Sherlock stepped forward to take the proffered hand with a demure smile on his lips.

Dinner was overall a pleasant occasion, with an easy flow of conversation that occasionally fell into comfortable silences while the four of them ate. John and Sherlock sat on one side of the rectangular table, their seats close enough for their arms to brush, and Harry and Mrs. Watson sitting on the other side. Sherlock had relaxed a bit more since his arrival, but John could tell he was still on edge. Slowly, as to not garner the attention of his mother or sister, John reached over and gently laid his hand on Sherlock’s knee, rubbing comforting circles on his thigh with his thumb.

Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but kept his head turned towards Mrs. Watson, who was regaling them with a story of whatever shenanigans her coworkers had been up to over the last few days. It was strange; John would have thought such a mundane topic would bore Sherlock, yet he seemed to be hanging onto every word that came out of her mouth. John couldn’t keep the affection from bubbling up within him as he watched Sherlock so enraptured with the story of how someone spiked the coffee last Friday.

Sherlock calmed progressively over the course of the evening, aside from how he tensed when Harry and Mrs. Watson began asking him questions about himself and his friendship with John. That conversation went smoothly enough, and not before long dinner was finished and John was sitting on his bed with Sherlock’s head on his shoulder.

“So, that wasn’t too bad right?”

“It could have been worse.”

John scoffed, and could feel the smile on Sherlock’s face as he burrowed into him. John’s arm was around Sherlock’s shoulders but he didn’t remember putting it there.

John felt the vibration of Sherlock’s phone and sighed. That was most likely Adkins letting Sherlock know he’d arrived to take him home. Sherlock’s sigh provided the confirmation that yes, the time had come for him to leave.

“I’ll show you out, I suppose.” John waited for Sherlock to straighten up and stand before he climbed off of his bed and walked out into the hallway. They passed his mother and Harry where they were watching TV in the living room.

“Goodbye Mrs. Watson! Bye Harry!” Sherlock called out to them.

“Goodbye Sherlock!” came their joint reply.

John opened the front door and stepped outside. Sherlock came out after him and for a moment the two of them simply stood on John’s porch, shuffling their feet and clearing their throats.

“I’m really glad you came,” John offered, staring up at Sherlock through his eyelashes. There was a clearing of Sherlock’s throat before he replied.

“Yes. This was nice. Thank you for inviting me.”

John looked up to meet Sherlock’s eye. “So now that you’ve survived one dinner, will I be able to convince you to come to another sometime?”

In lieu of a response, Sherlock just smiled down at John. John felt trapped, unable to focus on anything other than the sparkle in Sherlock’s eyes. The sun had long set and the moonlight made Sherlock’s pale skin almost glow. He looked gorgeous.

Then, as if Sherlock had been reading John's thoughts, he shyly dipped his head down, breaking eye contact.

"I'll see you at school then," John managed through the smile that was threatening to take over his face. Sherlock lifted his head enough to nod, and, before John could second-guess himself, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock's lean frame. After a moment of hesitation, John felt Sherlock’s arms secure themselves around his shoulders. John breathed out a laugh and buried his nose in Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock turned his head then, and John felt a slight pressure against his right temple. By the time John recognized what he felt to be Sherlock’s lips, he had already stepped away and was walking to the waiting car.

 

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ravenscar for being such an amazing beta!

John’s mind was swimming when he arrived at his locker the next day. He had no idea what to do when he met Sherlock at their lockers that morning.When Sherlock greeted him all he could do was stare at his lips when they stretched into a friendly smile, and remember the way they’d felt pressed against his temple. John felt his face flush but he forced himself to make eye contact with Sherlock.

“Are you free today?” Sherlock asked. His eyes were boring into John’s with an intensity John hadn’t seen before. Sherlock’s piercing gaze made John feel weak in the knees and he leaned against his locker in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. He was sure Sherlock could see right through him but that didn’t stop him from trying to look calm.

“Uh, yeah.”

Sherlock reached out to squeeze John’s bicep. “Want to come with me to Northlake?”

“Is there a special occasion for this invitation?”

“Does there need to be?” Sherlock asked almost hesitantly. Immediately John began shaking his head in protest.

“No, just wondering. I’d love to.” He turned to open his locker. “Does this mean we’re skipping the library today?”

“If that’s alright with you.”

John got his locker open and turned to face Sherlock once more.  “That’s perfectly fine. I’ll meet you here.”

Sherlock gave a small nod, turned to leave, and hesitated. John held his breath, wondering if Sherlock was going to kiss him again. Sherlock started to lean in, but must have decided against it as he shook his head and merely gave John’s shoulder a squeeze as he passed by him.

And thus began a strange sort of routine for them. In the morning Sherlock would be waiting for John with a wide smile and pleasant greeting and John would ignore the surge of affection he felt when he saw Sherlock. They would make plans for whatever they were doing that day, and then Sherlock would walk away. Every time Sherlock passed John there was some sort of contact, whether it be the squeezing of an arm or light brushing of fingertips as he left. Every day John's fingers lingered over whatever spot Sherlock touched and he turned to watch Sherlock walk away.

John began sitting beside Sherlock in Chemistry. They never talked about it, but John couldn’t forget the way Sherlock had looked at him when he’d placed his book bag down beside his seat the first time.

In the afternoon they went to the park instead of the library, and Sherlock would lay his head on John’s shoulder until they decided to go indoors. They usually went to Sherlock’s house, but there were rare occasions that John was able to coerce Sherlock into coming to his home.

They spent their evenings curled up together either working on homework, watching a movie, or simply talking until it got late and one of them had to leave. Each day it became harder and harder to depart from Sherlock’s house or to have him leave John’s. Eventually, it came to the point where John was spending every afternoon with Sherlock, regardless of what his team was doing. He still sat with them at lunch, but other than that and at practices or games, John rarely saw them.

John knew he was playing a dangerous game, allowing himself to become so close to Sherlock when the relationship wasn’t meant to last. He could feel himself developing feelings for the boy that went beyond simple fondness or slight affection. How could he not? Sherlock was gorgeous, and hilarious, and brilliant and everything John could ask for in a person, in a friend, or even a boyfriend. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy to simply be in someone’s presence. And yet he knew it would have to end soon. He needed to finish this dare, and fast.

Once he finished, John could put the entire ordeal behind him. He could go back to his life and spend more time with his friends like he should. He would focus more on his studies and less on studying the way Sherlock’s hair tumbled over his forehead every time he dipped his head down in shyness. He could concentrate on rugby, and not the sliver of pink that peeked out of Sherlock’s mouth when he was in deep thought.

John couldn’t allow himself to dilly-dally anymore. He had been given a mission, and he was going to see it through. The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could start the process of forgetting all about Sherlock and their strange association.

John’s every move became calculated. Every batted eyelash and bitten lip served a purpose. There was no accidental brushing of fingers, only purposeful grabbing of Sherlock’s hands and lacing his fingers through them. John made sure Sherlock was the one continually caught off guard. John made sure he was always on the offensive. The only thing not completely under his control was being able to greet Sherlock at his locker with an irresistible smile and sultry hello. It was always Sherlock waiting for John with that easy smile and twinkle in his eye that threw John off  his game. However, that could easily be remedied.

One morning John set his alarm fifteen minutes earlier than usual and that allowed him to get to school and his locker before Sherlock. He opened the metal door and stood before it, pretending to look busy until he sensed someone coming toward him.

John turned, expecting to see Sherlock approaching, but instead his eyes landed on Jim, Sebastian, and Greg watching him curiously. John gave them his friendliest smile despite the fact that the look on Jim’s face made his blood boil.

“Well, John,” he said. “I must say this is a surprising turn of events.” Sebastian and Greg turned to look at Jim with equally curious and confused looks on their faces.

“What?” John asked, sounding as perplexed as his two friends looked.

Jim sighed. “You know, I only dared you to _shag_ the freak, not date him.”

“He’s _not_ a freak-” John cut off when he realized how he must have sounded, focusing on the insult to Sherlock and not the insinuation that he wasn't focused on his date. “And I’m not dating him.”

“Oh, you aren’t? So you two spending almost every waking minute with each other means nothing? That the hand holding is just … platonic? Oh and do tell me, how did him meeting your mum go? Surely since you two aren’t dating it wasn’t a big deal, and she didn’t give you her blessing.”

John thought back to the day Sherlock had come over for dinner. The next morning his mother had sat with him in the living room and told him she liked Sherlock. That he seemed like a good kid, and she was glad John had him in his life. John had simply taken that to mean she approved of his new friend, but was there perhaps something more to that conversation?

John remembered Greg’s words the day he officially met Sherlock. He said he would have been as nervous as Sherlock was if he were in his position. John remembered asking just what Sherlock’s position was. He feared he now had his answer.

“We’re not dating,” he tried once more.

Jim simply lifted an eyebrow in response, silencing any further protest. John took a moment to reflect on his association with Sherlock. To be honest, the only thing different from his relationship with Sherlock and any romantic relationship he’d had was the lack of kissing.

But then again, Sherlock had kissed his temple the first night he’d been to John’s house. And surely the semi-regular hand holding had to mean something. As well as Sherlock’s need to rest his head on John’s shoulder any time they sat beside each other.

Jim saw the realization when it dawned on John’s face and his smirk grew.

“Right then. I’ll just be off to my locker. Seb, you coming?”

After giving John an almost pitying look, Sebastian turned and followed  Jim, leaving Greg and John standing alone in the hallway.

“Am – am I really dating him?” John asked Greg, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. It felt longer than John was used to. He made a mental note to see about getting a haircut.

Greg shrugged. “I mean, you two are pretty … close.”

John felt as if he was hit by a ton of bricks. “Oh my god. I’m _dating_ Sherlock Holmes!”

“Are you?” a voice said into his ear. John felt a slender arm drape itself across his shoulders. “Well, that Sherlock is a lucky guy.”

John turned to stare wide-eyed at the smug-faced Sherlock beside him. “Wha- You knew? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

All John could do was gape at him. All this time he’d been living under the illusion that he was in control. Yet here he was, in an actual bloody _relationship_ without even knowing it! How could he be so stupid? How could he have let it get to this point? Why wasn’t he more upset that it had?

The look on John’s face caused the smile to fall from Sherlock’s lips. “Is … is that alright?”

John blinked at him. He saw a multitude of emotions in Sherlock’s eyes, the easiest one to identify being fear. John covered his eyes with his hands and took a moment to breathe.

“No, it’s … fine.” And it really was. Better than fine, in fact, which was quite worrying. The rock that had long ago settled in John’s stomach was now a boulder, but there was nothing John could do about it except drop his hands and stare helplessly at Sherlock. “I just …”

“I’ll leave you two alone, then,” Greg said with a nod. “See you later, John.”

John turned to watch Greg leave. He’d actually forgotten he was even there. All he could focus on was Sherlock. His _boyfriend_ Sherlock. Just thinking the word made John equal parts elated and terrified.

Sherlock’s eyes were wide and doubtful, and John felt him began to pull away, his arm sliding from John’s shoulders. He placed his hands on John’s shoulders and ducked his head down to stare directly into John’s eyes.

“John, you’re scaring me.”

“Believe me, you’re not the only one who’s scared.”

Sherlock breathed out a laugh that sounded more nervous than anything. “Listen, John. I don’t think a school hallway is the best place to have this conversation. Just tell me you’re okay and we can talk more after school.”

“I'm okay.”

Sherlock shifted the books he held in his hand and nodded at John. He started to walk away, but John grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. Once Sherlock was close enough, John stretched his neck to place a kiss on the soft skin of Sherlock’s cheek. The look on Sherlock’s face was enough to send John’s heartbeat into overdrive, despite the uneasiness he felt.

John released Sherlock and turned to his own locker to close it. He watched Sherlock in his peripheral vision until he was no longer visible, having disappeared in the crowd.

When they met again at their lockers after school John had a knot in his stomach, and it appeared even Sherlock was a bit anxious. They agreed Northlake was an appropriate place for their chat, and they walked in silence until they reached their usual bench overlooking the lake. With each passing moment John felt the knot in his stomach tighten further. The Boulder that had been in his stomach was now a mass of butterflies and the beating of their wings matched John’s rapid heart beat. What was he supposed to do now? What was there to say?

“John.” Sherlock’s voice was quiet, subdued. “I guess I should apologise for not saying anything. Despite my lack of experience with relationships I understand there are some things you need to discuss before entering into one. I should have – ”

“No.” John shook his head and placed a hand on Sherlock’s knee. He lifted his eyes to meet Sherlock’s and swallowed thickly. “ _I_ should have."

"But-"

"It’s okay.” John couldnt keep the smile from his face as he shook his head. "More than okay."

Sherlock’s eyebrow twitched and John saw the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “It is?” John nodded. "So, it's settled then.”

“It seems so,” John murmured, his eyes drifting downward to Sherlock’s lips. He’d spent every night since that Sunday dinner thinking about how they’d felt against his temple, and wondering what they would feel like pressed against his own mouth. John was overcome with a feeling of want that he knew he couldn’t deny any longer. So he didn’t deny it. There was no point. Sherlock was now officially his boyfriend, and what better way to seal the deal than with a kiss? Using the last bit of courage he had, John reached out with one hand, grabbed a fistful of Sherlock’s hair, and pulled.

Sherlock made a small noise of surprise when their lips met before he began to reciprocate. He was inexperienced, and it showed, but that didn’t matter. All John could think about was the way Sherlock’s lips felt so soft and pliant against his own. Sherlock’s lips were way too soft to have never been kissed. A part of John’s mind rejoiced that he was the only one to experience the joy that was kissing Sherlock Holmes. The other part was too focused on the experience to think about anything else.

And it truly was a joyful experience. Sherlock’s hands were warm and solid on John’s shoulders, his tongue curious as it explored John’s mouth. As first kisses went, John couldn’t think of how it could have gone better. They were both left breathless when they parted, and John allowed his forehead to rest against Sherlock’s while they caught their breath.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, “I’m definitely okay with this.”

Sherlock surged forward and recaptured John’s lips. It was clumsy, it was sloppy, and above all it was absolutely perfect. John’s heart and head were in the clouds with no sign of coming down any time soon.

They spent the remainder of their time snogging on the park bench, only stopping to grab a snack from a local bakery when the growling of their stomachs became impossible to ignore.

As it turned out, dating Sherlock wasn’t very different from being friends with him. John still sat beside him at Chemistry. They still met up after school every day. The only difference was that now they greeted each other with a peck on the lips and they spent quite a bit of time snogging in Sherlock’s sunroom.

Sherlock started coming to collect John from his practices and games rather than wait for John to text him when they were over so they could arrange a meeting place. How he always knew what time to show up without ever actually attending any of them John would never know.

Sherlock came over for Sunday dinner again, this time as John’s boyfriend and not just his friend. His mother and sister were wonderful, even more so than before, and Sherlock even elected to spend time in the living room with them after dinner watching Mrs. Watson’s favourite soap opera until it was time for him to go. That night Sherlock kissed John on his porch and left him with a stupid grin on his face.

If John had thought he was in dangerous territory just flirting with Sherlock, he was in way over his head now. He had long abandoned the thought that what he felt for Sherlock was anything other than adoration and he happily accepted the notion that the feeling was mutual.

John wished this new development between them could somehow make his predicament easier, but it only complicated things. He knew he couldn’t go through with the dare. That much was obvious and simple. The complicated part was somehow getting out of it without causing too much of a fuss. He could only imagine the sorts of things Jim would say.

None of that would matter to John now that he was with Sherlock though. Anyone could say whatever they wanted and it wouldn’t change the way John felt about him. He knew what he felt wasn’t love. They were too young and hadn’t been together long enough. However, John could certainly see himself falling hard for Sherlock, and he hoped Sherlock would eventually feel the same for him. They connected on a level John had never experienced with anyone before. Not with any previous girlfriends, not with Greg or Mike. John was in uncharted territory with Sherlock and he was more than willing to explore it with him. However, there was still something niggling at John’s conscience. There was something he had to do before he could go any further with Sherlock, and that was to call off the dare. Rather than seduce Sherlock, John’s mission now was to erase the fact that he was ever given that task in the first place. It shouldn’t be too hard, once he figured out how to do it. Whatever he ended up doing, he knew he needed to do it soon. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that I've read your comments and even though I haven't responded yet I really thank you and appreciate every one of them!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to tumblr user justsuperblue for looking over this chapter! I really appreciate it. :)

“I’ve decided to try and find out what happened to my mum.”

They were in John’s living room watching a Doctor Who marathon. John’s mother had taken Harry to see a movie half an hour ago and the house had been relatively quiet until Sherlock spoke. John turned down the volume on the television and looked down at Sherlock, whose head was pillowed in his lap; a pair of bright blue eyes stared up at him.

“What?” John asked, not for clarification but to give himself time to think of a response.

Sherlock sat up and turned to face John on the sofa. “After spending so much time here, and seeing how well you and your mother get along and the things she does for you,” Sherlock gestured to the muffin platter on the coffee table that John’s mother had left for them. “I want to know what happened to prevent me from possibly having that.”

“Oh, Sherlock.” John reached out to him but he flinched away.

“John, spare me your pity. I’m merely curious, is all.”

John slowly withdrew his hand and placed it at his side. “Okay. How are you going to go about doing this?”

“I have my methods.”

“Would you like any help?”

“No, that’s fine. While I’m sure you’d be a more than competent assistant,” Sherlock grinned and slid closer to John on the sofa. “I’d prefer we spend our time together doing something… else.”

John cocked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Something else like what?”

In lieu of a response, Sherlock leaned in to seal his lips over John’s and that was the end of that conversation.

They didn’t discuss Sherlock’s mother any more after that. John didn’t ask for progress reports, and Sherlock didn’t willingly give up any information. John guessed it was because Sherlock had yet to find anything.

John wouldn’t say so, but he was worried. He didn’t see a way this search could end well. Either Sherlock would find nothing and be frustrated at himself, or he would discover something terrible and wish he’d never started the investigation in the first place.

John knew that Sherlock was most likely working on his search while he was at rugby practice, as it was the only time they weren’t together. John worried that one day when Sherlock came to pick him up there wouldn’t be a smile on his face, but tears in his eyes. John’s stomach twisted itself into knots as he ran laps around the field, hoping that Sherlock would eventually give up before he found out something he didn’t want to know.

Rugby practice became less bearable as time went on. When he wasn’t fretting over Sherlock, John was dodging curious eyes on the field and avoiding conversation with his teammates in the locker room. He still hadn’t figured out just what to say to let Jim know the dare was off, and until then he wanted to keep their contact to a minimum.

John was eating lunch with Sherlock again, so practice was the only time he saw any of his teammates. He was careful not to run into anyone in the hallway and he declined every offer to hang out. Not even a promise of a game of Truth or Dare could get John to go. In fact, it made him want to go even less when the game was mentioned.

Greg was the only teammate he still spoke to, and their conversations were strained and overly polite. Neither boy wanted to bring up the elephant in the room. It’s not like they had the time to anyway; all of their conversations occurred in school hallways in the short breaks between classes. It wasn’t the time or place to discuss it.

John knew that if the roles were reversed he would hate Greg. He hated himself for being such a terrible friend to him, when Greg had done nothing wrong. He needed to do something to make up for it. If that meant going an entire afternoon without seeing Sherlock, so be it. It might be for the better anyway. They’d become attached at the hip, and John knew that couldn’t be healthy.

However, John didn’t see himself tearing away from Sherlock any time soon. Since they spent so much time together, John had learned to read Sherlock better than his favourite book. He knew all of Sherlock’s tells. He knew when something was wrong, and something was very wrong. For days Sherlock had been exceptionally quiet and withdrawn. It was normal for Sherlock to be quiet, but John could tell something was off. John feared the worst, but he wasn’t sure what the worst was. Either Sherlock had found something devastating about his mother, or he’d found out about the dare. John honestly wasn’t sure which one he was more afraid of.

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John found himself asking one day. They were curled up together on Sherlock’s bed, Sherlock’s head resting in the crook of John’s neck and shoulder with an arm draped around his middle. John was using the hand that wasn’t trapped beneath Sherlock to gently tousle his curls. Normally Sherlock would close his eyes and sigh before nuzzling further into John’s palm, but now he was only staring off into space. His eyes cleared and he looked up at John with a frown on his face.

“What?”

“You’ve been distant lately. Have … have I done something? Are you upset with me?” John bit his lip, preparing himself for Sherlock’s answer. Sherlock tightened his hold on John and shook his head.

“No, you're amazing. I love … spending time with you.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“That’s a lie.” John pulled his hand away and sat up. “Why aren’t you being honest with me?”

“John…” Sherlock sat up then and turned to face him. “I’m not-”

“Don’t say you’re not lying to me because I know you are. You’ve been weird and moody for days now and I wasn’t going to say anything at first but now you’re worrying me.” John swallowed hard and reached out to take Sherlock’s hand. “Is it your mother?” The look on Sherlock’s face provided the confirmation John was afraid of. “Did you … find something?”

“No,” Sherlock growled, “and that’s the problem!” He sighed. “I have yet to find a single lead. I don’t understand how she disappeared and every bit of information about her did as well.” He used the hand that John wasn’t holding to cover his face and shook his head. “I don’t even know her _name_ , John. I thought I could do this but, I can’t.”

John sensed the oncoming breakdown and quickly reached out to wrap his arms around Sherlock. “Shh,” he said, pulling him close. “It’s alright. Don’t get so down on yourself, okay?”

“But-”

“No.” John squeezed Sherlock even tighter, and he felt the tension begin to fade from his body. “No negativity right now. Just … relax.”

They sat there in silence for an indeterminate amount of time until Sherlock finally did relax and wrapped his arms around John. He buried his nose in the side of John’s neck and sighed.

“Thank you.”

John didn’t respond until Sherlock lifted his head to look at him, and even then all he did was pucker his lips. Sherlock laughed before meeting him halfway and they shared a few chaste kisses that quickly became heated. John leaned back against the headboard and Sherlock climbed into his lap, straddling him. For several minutes the only sound in the room was of them kissing, and the occasional giggle from Sherlock when John’s roaming hands found a ticklish spot on his sides or back.

John tried to catalogue the places where Sherlock was ticklish for future reference, but found it difficult to do in their current position. An idea popped into his head, and he found himself smiling into the kiss. Sherlock broke away with an eyebrow raised seconds before John hooked a leg over Sherlock’s and flipped them over. Sherlock landed hard on his back and John couldn’t help but to laugh at Sherlock’s dazed expression as he stared up at him.

He winked at Sherlock before allowing his hands to roam once more. He started with Sherlock’s chest, feeling the outline of his pectoral muscles before traveling downward to his abdomen. Sherlock wasn’t extremely muscular, but John could feel some muscle definition even beneath the thin layer of Sherlock’s shirt.

John’s hands paused above the waistline of Sherlock’s trousers and he could hear Sherlock’s audible intake of breath. The room was deathly silent for a moment while John weighed his options. His hands skimmed lightly over Sherlock’s hips and went down to his thighs, giving them a squeeze before John climbed back up Sherlock’s body to kiss him again.

Sherlock’s hands skimmed their way down John’s back similar to the way John’s hands had explored Sherlock’s body. John used one hand to support himself and the other hand buried itself in Sherlock’s hair. Both of Sherlock’s hands landed on John’s arse and gave a firm squeeze, causing his hips to jerk.

Sherlock moaned into the kiss and he squeezed again. John didn’t realise he was rolling his hips until he felt a faint pressure against his hip. Almost immediately he stopped and pushed himself up. He stared down at Sherlock, who was watching him with pupils blown wide and a reddened face.

Once he got his breathing under control Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows and frowned at John. “What is it?”

John ran a hand through his hair and struggled to keep his breathing under control. Sherlock reached out and placed a hand on John’s hip and John’s heart rate increased to a dangerous level. He moved even further away and stared wide-eyed at Sherlock.

Had they really been…? Was that …?

“John? Did I do something wrong?” Sherlock was watching him with frightened eyes and in that moment John could not have loathed himself more.

“No, no!” John said, crawling back to Sherlock. He gave his best attempt at a smile and placed a hand on Sherlock’s knee. “I just … I wanted to help take your mind off of your mother, but I didn’t mean to do it  _that_ way.”

“So you don’t want …” Sherlock trailed off, staring down at his lap. John reached out to grab his hands.

John wanted to kick himself repeatedly. He wanted nothing more than to continue what they’d started. He wanted to have Sherlock in every way and give himself to Sherlock entirely. He never wanted anyone the way he wanted Sherlock, but he knew he couldn’t do anything until he’d officially called off the dare. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he had sex with Sherlock before doing so. It didn’t matter that John had given up the dare long ago, or that he wasn’t going to tell anyone when he and Sherlock finally did have sex. John just knew that if he didn’t call off the dare soon he would regret it.

“No, I do,” John assured him as he squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “God, do I. I just. I don’t think I’m entirely ready yet.”

The worried look on Sherlock’s face transitioned to one of understanding and he nodded. “I get it.” He held his arms open. “Now, come back up here.”

John did as he was told and allowed Sherlock to wrap his arms around him. He leaned back against Sherlock’s chest and closed his eyes, wondering why they didn’t do this more often. He felt so warm and comforted in Sherlock’s embrace and never wanted to leave. He could spend the rest of his days wrapped up in Sherlock, resting his head on his shoulder and entangling their legs on top of the covers.

John never knew it was possible to feel this way - to be so enamoured with someone and to want nothing more than to spend all his time with them. He liked Sherlock, yes, he had for a long time now. John was starting to believe what he felt now for Sherlock went further than that.

Was there a word for the feeling between like and love? Surely John wasn’t in love with Sherlock. Not yet, at least.

Then again, John had never been in love before. He didn’t know what to expect, or what he was supposed to feel. How does one know when they’re in love? How was John to find out? He loved his mother and sister but he couldn’t go to them with this, and there was no way he was going to talk about it with Sherlock, so who else was there?

“Do you mind if I make plans with Greg?”

“I have no right to keep you from your best friend,” Sherlock answered. “Besides, I can use the time to keep looking for information on my mother. There is one place I haven’t checked yet.”

“Alright. But promise me you won’t get all obsessive again. Call me if you need me.”

Sherlock sighed and held John tightly against his chest. “You’re so good to me, John.” John didn’t respond. He simply burrowed further into Sherlock and tried to not be eaten alive by his guilt.

* * *

Greg agreed to hang out at his house Thursday afternoon. John was to spend the weekend at Sherlock’s house, where he hoped he and Sherlock would finally be able to 'consummate their relationship'. Ever since the incident in Sherlock’s room a week ago it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the tension between them. Sherlock was his boyfriend and they were both of age; they should be able to do whatever the hell they wanted, and they wanted each other.

John planned to tell Jim the dare was off at practice Friday. His hands shook just at the thought of having to speak with Jim, which was why he asked Greg if he would accompany him, as moral support.

Greg stayed silent for several moments after John asked him this, studying him with careful eyes.

“I mean, it’s cool if not. If you have something better to do or … just don’t want to,” John rambled when the silence became too uncomfortable. “But, I would like the support.”

“You really ...” he sighed. "You're really into this guy, aren't you?"

John raised his eyes to Greg’s, glad to see he wasn’t mad or upset in any way. He simply stared at John, waiting for his response. John nodded his head.

“I really am.”

Greg's eyes searched John's for a moment, then he smiled. “Then I’d be glad to help you with this in any way I can.”

John let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding and grinned at Greg. “Thank you.”

Greg smiled back. “Anything for my best friend.” He took a sip of the soda he’d been nursing for the last hour. “I am still your best friend, right?”

“Of course!” Greg made an unconvinced noise and continued to sip. “Greg, I’m sorry I’ve been such a terrible friend. I promise I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more, I promise.”

Greg made an unconvinced noise and continued to sip.

John sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Greg, I’m sorry I’ve been such a terrible friend and I promise I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more, I promise.”

“That’s all I want. I don’t mind you spending time with him. I like seeing you happy, and I know he makes you happy. All I ask is that you don’t forget about me just because you’re in _love_.”

“I am not-” Greg gave him a look that caused his mouth to snap closed. “I won’t forget about you. Promise.”

* * *

John was in high spirits when he approached Sherlock at their lockers the next morning. Thanks to the brief conversation with Greg at his house and a bit more soul searching later that evening, John had finally accepted the fact that he was in love with Sherlock, and it was a wonderful feeling.

He greeted Sherlock with an extra cheerful hello and gave him a hard kiss when he turned his head.

“Well,” Sherlock said quietly, “You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m always in a good mood when I’m with you.” John smiled up at Sherlock, not bothering to try and hide the emotion from his face. He was in love with Sherlock, and he was going to embrace it.

John opened his mouth to say something else, but he forgot what he was going to say the moment he noticed the look on Sherlock’s face. His lips were pressed tightly together, his brow was furrowed, and his eyes were red, which either meant he was fighting back tears or hadn’t slept well the previous night. His hair was dishevelled and his posture was tense. The smile was immediately wiped from John’s face - this couldn’t be good.

“What is it?”

Sherlock just shook his head and walked away. John couldn’t do anything but stare dumbfounded at his back as he disappeared into the crowd of students.

John didn’t see Sherlock again until lunch. He didn’t say a single word. Molly caught John’s eye across the table and gave him a questioning look. All John could do was shrug. He reached over and placed his hand on Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock didn’t react, but he didn’t pull away, which John guessed was a good sign. Sherlock wasn’t mad at him, and that meant he hadn’t found out about the dare.

John walked with Sherlock to their locker as usual, chattering about nothing important and enthusing about how wonderful their weekend was going to be. He tried to drop a few hints as to what he hoped would transpire over the course of their extended sleepover, but Sherlock remained unresponsive. He did, however, bend down to give John a kiss before heading to class. In Chemistry, Sherlock sat quietly and took notes, and the second the bell rang he gave John another kiss before walking out of the classroom alone.

The minute John made it to the locker room after school and changed into his practice uniform he sought out Greg. He found him sitting on a bench pulling on his socks, and sat beside him.

“So, let’s do this,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “You know where Jim is?”

“Home,” Greg said, not lifting his eyes from tying his shoe. John felt the heat drain from his face.

“What?”

“He left after lunch. Wasn’t feeling well.” Greg looked up at John and shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait until Monday.”

“No, no, _no_!” John buried his face in his hands and groaned. It was just his luck that when he was finally ready to face Jim he would be missing.

So, there would be no sex that weekend. That was alright. With the way Sherlock was acting, John wasn’t sure how the weekend would go anyway. If Sherlock didn’t feel like talking to him, there was no way he’d want to do _that_ with John. Perhaps this was for the best.

Practice ran as smoothly as it ever did, even with Jim’s absence and John’s distraction. All he could think about was what could possibly be wrong with Sherlock. He tried to think back on their last conversation. John had asked if he could make plans with Greg the next day, and Sherlock had said he would-

Oh, _no_.

Sherlock had said he was going to continue the search for information about his mother. John’s stomach felt like it dropped to his knees. He had seen frustrated Sherlock. Frustrated Sherlock was distant and spacey. The Sherlock he’d seen that day was neither of those things. Sherlock was quiet and distressed. That could only mean one thing: he’d found something, and it wasn’t good.

Suddenly John felt like he couldn’t get dressed fast enough. He tripped over his pants and got his shirt stuck on his head because he was in too much of a hurry. When he finally managed to dress himself he rushed out of the locker room to meet Sherlock. He was standing at the edge of the field as he always did, his hands stuck into the pockets of his trousers. He didn’t look as tense as he did earlier, but he still looked far from happy. John hated to see the sullen look on his face.

Sherlock bent down to give John a kiss and held out his hand for John to take. While they walked Sherlock asked John how practice went, how his day was, and said nothing else for the remainder of their walk to John’s house. He stood silently in John’s bedroom while he packed clothes for the weekend, called Adkins to pick them up, and remained silent for the duration of the car ride. John watched Sherlock as he stared out the window, feeling his own heart begin to shatter as he looked at the broken expression on Sherlock's face.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to Mara and tumblr user justsuperblue for looking over this chapter!

John placed his things in Sherlock’s room before they went into the sunroom, dragging blankets and pillows into the centre as they usually did and sat down. For a moment, John allowed himself to entertain the idea that everything was fine and Sherlock wasn’t sulking beside him. It was so easy to get lost in the beautiful scene outside, but as the sun began to dip lower in the sky the silence in the room became too hard to ignore.

John noticed Sherlock became increasingly restless as time went on, though he remained silent. The silence was bordering on awkward, but John decided he wasn’t going to push anything. He would sit quietly until Sherlock was ready to talk; whether it be about his mother or anything else, John could wait. He would wait until Sherlock was ready. It was the least he could do.

“I – I found a note.”

John almost didn’t realise Sherlock had spoken. A thick silence hung over Sherlock’s words, and John could feel it seeping into every pore as he waited for Sherlock to continue, while simultaneously praying he wouldn’t. John turned to face Sherlock, but he refused to meet his eye.

“It was me, John. She left because of me.”

“What?”

Sherlock made a face. “’I’m sorry, but I just can’t be the mother of two such special boys.’ That’s what the letter she left for my father said.” Sherlock dropped his head and sighed. “Mycroft is five years older than me. She handled him just fine for five years. Then they had me … ”

“Sherlock … ”

“She must have noticed something; something wrong, and she decided that she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t deal with me too. _I’m_ the reason she left.” He finally looked up to meet John’s eyes, devastation barely hidden behind the sad smile on his face. The sight nearly broke John’s heart.  Sherlock sighed and shook his head. “It all makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“My father has never liked me, and now I understand why. My brother… I remember when we were younger I always had this feeling that he only tolerated me. Of course, we have a better relationship now, but I did grow up in a hostile environment.” He laughed without humour. “I guess perhaps I should be thankful.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“Because it prepared me for what my life is now. I became used to being an outsider – being unwanted.”

“What? No, _Sherlock._ ” John turned fully to face Sherlock then.“You listen to me. You are not an outsider. You are not a freak, and you most certainly are _not_ unwanted.” John sucked in a breath and reached out to cup Sherlock’s cheek in his hand. “I want you. So much. In any and every way I could have you. I think you’re wonderful. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, letting out a soft sigh. “Thank you, John.”

“Why are you thanking me? I didn’t do anything.”

“No, you’ve done so much.” Sherlock leaned forward to rest his forehead against John’s. “You see, I have a habit of being self destructive, especially when I’m frustrated. I have a tendency to get lost in my mind. No one has ever bothered … looking for me before. No one has made me feel like I’m worth looking for.” His eyes softened and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. “You’re really something else, John.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Trust me, it is.”

Sherlock pressed forward to kiss John, hard. He reached up to place a hand at the back of John’s neck, holding him close, as if he was afraid John would pull away. John felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes so he closed them and allowed Sherlock to kiss him as much as he wanted.

John’s skin felt like it was on fire, and he could hear his blood singing in his ears. He never wanted anyone like this before, and he wanted nothing more than to show Sherlock how much he wanted him and how much he cared for him.

But this was wrong; he hadn’t called off the dare. He hadn’t planned on ever telling Sherlock about the dare, but perhaps if he said something now, his conscience would let him have this one night with Sherlock.

“Sherlock, wait,” he said when he finally managed to detach his lips from Sherlock’s. “There’s something I should say.”

John leaned back enough to look into Sherlock’s eyes. He saw the sadness in them, the apprehension at being rejected again, and the vulnerability he usually managed to keep hidden.

He couldn’t tell him; not now. But he couldn’t tell him no. He couldn’t push him away, not when he was this vulnerable. Not when they’ve waited so long and John wanted this so bad, and he hated himself but he just _couldn’t._

“Sherlock …” He sighed. “You don’t deserve this.” Sherlock placed a hand on John’s chest.

“I don’t deserve _you._ ”

They continued to sit, facing each other in silence. After a while John struggled to make out the expression on Sherlock’s face. The room was dark, but fading sunlight still streamed in through the windows, and the only sound was that of raindrops hitting the window and their shallow breaths. John broke the stillness of the moment by moving forward, the susurrus of moving blankets adding to the quiet symphony.

The kiss was gentle; a light brushing of lips. John felt a trembling hand reach up and caress the back of his head, fingers burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. For a while they only kissed and caressed, Sherlock becoming more confident in his ministrations as time progressed.

John began to press forward, and Sherlock leaned backwards until he was lying flat. Their lips separated while John took the time to settle himself between Sherlock’s spread legs and lower himself onto his elbows. He brushed his nose against Sherlock’s, who let out a huff. John felt his breath fan out across his face and smiled against the skin of Sherlock’s cheek.

“Would you stop with the teasing and kiss me again?”

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock’s impatience, but bent down. At the same time Sherlock surged forward to recapture his lips, his long arms snaking around John’s waist to hold him down. Now they were pressed against each other from chest to groin.

Sherlock let out a low moan at the contact, and John moved his hips again, trying to increase the friction, and earned another moan from Sherlock in response. John sealed his lips over Sherlock’s to capture the sound and continued to slowly move his hips and grind against Sherlock.

Sherlock gasped and John felt fingernails digging into the skin at the small of his back where his jumper had started to lift up. The sharp pain only added to John’s arousal and he kissed Sherlock harder. He untucked Sherlock’s shirt and placed a steady hand on Sherlock’s side.

Sherlock’s hands began working at the hem of John’s jumper then, working to shift the material up until it began to bunch up beneath his arms. John pushed himself up and back onto his haunches, and Sherlock sat up to help wrestle him out of the garment. The minute the jumper came off Sherlock threw the material across the room while John’s hands began working furiously to undo the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt.

“I can’t get these damned things undone,” he groaned, still working on the third button. Sherlock chuckled and pushed John’s hands away so he could undo the buttons himself, then pulled off the garment and tossed it to the side in the same manner he’d done so with John’s jumper.

John worked on the button and zipper of his jeans while Sherlock worked to rid himself of his own trousers. The two of them spent several minutes awkwardly shuffling around on the floor trying to get undressed, and when John got stuck trying to kick off his jeans he couldn’t keep the laughter from bubbling out from inside of him.

Sherlock paused in where he’d started to stand up, took one look at John tugging at one leg of his jeans with both hands, and started laughing too.

“We look ridiculous right now.”

John nodded in agreement and sat up. “Like a couple of amateurs, for sure.”

Sherlock had begun to shimmy his trousers off of his hips then, but he froze when John spoke.

“Well … I am … an amateur. At this.”

John could see the apprehension creeping into Sherlock’s features and struggled to get upright so he could make his way over to where Sherlock was standing.

“Aren’t … Are you? An amateur, that is?” Sherlock asked, not meeting John’s eye. John placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder so he would look at him; then gestured to where his jeans were only pushed down to his knees.

“Does this look experienced to you?”

Sherlock glanced down, his eyes lingering on John’s crotch, and grinned. “No, it certainly doesn’t.”

John stepped forward and reached out to brush his knuckles lightly against Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned into the touch while John smiled at the sight. “So you’ll be my first.”

Sherlock nodded. “And you’ll be mine.”

They kissed, closed lips pressed tightly together, before pulling apart and hastily finishing undressing themselves. Any awkwardness that lingered in the room had faded by the time they removed their pants and fell into each other, landing amongst the blankets with Sherlock on his back and John hovering over him.

John kissed Sherlock like the oxygen he needed to breathe came from Sherlock’s lungs. He touched Sherlock like he was discovering the sensation all over again. He catalogued what skin felt smooth (cheeks, arms, sides) and what was covered with light dustings of hair (chest, legs, groin).

After the brief exploration of Sherlock’s body, John waffled on what to do next. For a moment he was painfully aware of just how inexperienced he was (a few hours of internet research meant nothing), but the moment was short lived because Sherlock canted his hips up and John became lost in the feeling of skin against skin. They rutted against each other with slow, long thrusts that caused Sherlock to make the most erotic noises John had ever heard. They were both already so hard, and John wasn’t sure how much longer he would last. It all just felt so amazing.

“Sherlock,” he gasped, “I don’t – I –”

Sherlock kissed him to shut him up, then reached to the side and began fumbling around in the blanket. After a moment he held up a small tube and square packet, shoving them into John’s face. John took the tube from him and popped open the cap, squirting a bit of the lubricant into his hand before reaching down.

Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist and pulled his hand away. John gave him a questioning look and Sherlock responded by waving the square bit of tin foil in John’s face. Only now did he see what it really was: a condom.

“Does this mean you want to-”

“ _Yes._ ”

“A-Alright then.”

Sherlock bit his bottom lip. “Is that alright with you?”

John almost laughed. Here Sherlock was, being so considerate of John and not wanting to push him too far when it was John who should be holding back. Rather than do what he should and say no, John nodded his head and took the condom from Sherlock.

“Yes, of course I’m alright with that.”

John gave Sherlock one more kiss, then slid down his body, laving his tongue over Sherlock’s chest and abdomen as he went. He got to Sherlock’s prick and, after a moment of hesitation, licked a stripe up the underside - just to see how it tasted. It was salty with a hint of something else John had no idea how to describe.

Above him, Sherlock keened and his hands scrabbled to grab John’s hair and pull him away. “John, unless you want this to end early, I suggest you don’t do that again.”

John looked up at Sherlock, at the glazed look in his eyes and the way his chest heaved as he struggled for air, and smiled. He had this boy completely at his mercy. He could do anything he wanted, because Sherlock trusted him. He trusted him with everything, and this proved it. John was touched, and more than anything he was glad they could experience this, for the first time, together.

John finished his journey downwards and sat back on his legs, trying not to stare too hard at the naked Sherlock before him. He looked so gorgeous with his tousled hair, flushed cheeks, and lithe limbs. His prick was long and lean like the rest of him, and John had never seen a more inviting arsehole. Given, he hadn’t seen any other arseholes, but he was sure Sherlock’s was still exquisite by comparison.

John wiped the lube he’d squirted into his palm on the blanket, and put more onto the fingers of his left hand. Carefully he reached down, not breaking eye contact with Sherlock as he placed a single finger over Sherlock’s hole, gently prodding at it and rubbing small circles until the tip of his finger was allowed to slip inside.

Sherlock sucked in a breath and John nearly withdrew, but he saw Sherlock shake his head when he started to pull his finger out.

“No, keep going. I’m fine. It’s just … different.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure out.”

John looked back to Sherlock’s prick. His erection had abated somewhat, and John instantly felt guilty. He used his currently unoccupied hand to slowly stroke him back to full hardness.

Eventually John was able to get two fingers in, and finally three. By that point Sherlock had thrown his arm over his eyes and was moaning on every exhale.

“Are you ready?” John asked after what felt like an eternity. He was surprised his voice wasn’t shaking.

“Yes … yes … ” Sherlock panted in reply. John slowly removed his fingers, wiped the excess lube onto the blanket, and opened the condom packet. It only took him a few seconds to figure out how to get it on and then he used more lube to slick himself up.

“You know,” he said, pausing in where he’d begun to climb back on top of Sherlock, “I’ve heard it’s easier for you if you’re on top. Would you-”

Sherlock pushed John’s chest until he was on his back and climbed on top of him. John tried not to laugh at how eager Sherlock was; but then again, he was more than ready to get things started as well.

Sherlock sat on John’s stomach and curled in on himself to give John a kiss. He pulled back, grinned at John, then reached behind himself. He scooted back until the head of John’s cock was resting right at his entrance, and they both held their breath.

Slowly, Sherlock began to sink down until he was basically sitting in John’s lap. John was so overloaded with this new sensation he momentarily forgot to breathe. His chest burned and his skin felt like it was on fire. Everything was hot, and tight. So tight. And it felt glorious.

Sherlock gave an experimental wiggle and John’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. His hands shot out and settled on Sherlock’s hips to steady him.

“I’m not rushing you or anything but if you’re going to move please do more than that.”

Sherlock huffed out a breath, but placed his hands on John’s chest and lifted himself until only the head of John’s cock was still inside him. John watched the muscles in Sherlock’s thigh flex as he lowered himself once more, lifted, lowered, lifted, and lowered …

Sherlock threw his head back, exposing the long column of his neck, and moaned. If John weren’t already in the process of it, that sight alone would have made him want to take Sherlock right then and there.

“John.” Sherlock was beginning to speed up. “John you feel –”

“– so good. You feel so good Sherlock.” John lifted his hips in time with Sherlock descending and earned a rather guttural groan from him for his efforts. He thrust up again, matching Sherlock’s pace. He kept his hands on Sherlock’s hips and stared up at him. His eyes were screwed shut but he didn’t look like he was in pain – quite the opposite, in fact.

His mouth was hanging open, and he licked his lips almost every other second. John wanted nothing more than to be able to kiss those lips, but he couldn’t in their current position.

“Wait,” he said, trying to still Sherlock, “I want –“

“Do whatever you want John. I’m yours. You know that.”

“Oh, god,” John couldn’t wait to kiss Sherlock any longer. He pulled Sherlock close to him and awkwardly rolled over so he was on top. Sherlock stared up at him wide-eyed, and John could tell by the twitch Sherlock’s prick gave that he found what John had done quite arousing. John leaned down and kissed Sherlock, wasting no time in prodding at the corner of Sherlock’s lips with his tongue. Sherlock granted him access, and John began moving his hips again.

His thrusts were sloppy and erratic, but neither boy cared. They kissed like their lives depended on it, both of them hanging on for dear life. Sherlock had one hand at the base of John’s skull and the other firmly gripping John’s arse. John ran his free hand through Sherlock’s hair, across his cheeks, and over his shoulder before starting the cycle again.

John tore his lips from Sherlock’s and turned his attention to Sherlock’s neck, licking and biting until Sherlock was writhing beneath him. He hoped there would be a mark, some sort of physical reminder of what they did - of their first time together.

Sherlock was very vocal, even when kissing John. He moaned and gasped and even managed to say John’s name on a few occasions. After a while it appeared to be the only thing he _could_ say. Sherlock’s brain had finally shut off, and though John loved his brilliant boyfriend he loved him just as much when he was a babbling mess, writhing beneath him.

John pulled back to look at Sherlock’s face. His expression was one of pure bliss. His mouth was open as if he was laughing, his face was relaxed and his eyes were closed. John wanted, no needed, to see Sherlock’s eyes. He wanted to find out what he could see in them at a time like this.

“Look at me.”

Sherlock obliged, and John felt all of the air knocked out of him when their eyes locked. All traces of hurt that had been there earlier today were gone, replaced with only joy, arousal, and something that looked so close to love it would have made John cry if he were the type. “God,” he said before leaning in to kiss Sherlock again.  “You’re so gorgeous.”

Sherlock’s face contorted into something between a look of pain and pleasure and John felt his muscles contract around him. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, pulled him close, and let Sherlock cling to him as he shuddered through his orgasm. John could feel the wetness between them, and when Sherlock finished he pulled out of him, being careful to keep his hand on the condom so it didn’t slip off. He looked at the mess on Sherlock’s abdomen before looking into his eyes with a soft smile on his lips.

“So gorgeous.”

Sherlock then leaned forward and kissed John hard on the lips. John felt a shaking hand reaching for his cock, and barely had enough time to gasp before Sherlock took off the condom and began pumping furiously.

“Oh, God,” John panted before recapturing Sherlock’s lips. He could feel his orgasm building; a white heat coiling at the pit of his belly. It only took several more strokes before Sherlock brought him to completion, their lips never detaching.

For a while they simply laid there, entangled in each other, waiting for their breathing and heart rates to return to normal.

John grabbed a corner of the blanket and used it to wipe up the mess on Sherlock’s stomach. “You should probably wash this,” he said. Sherlock looked at him, with a blank expression, and then burst into laughter.

John frowned at him. “What?”

“Out of all the things to say after sex, you go with that?” Sherlock managed through his giggles. “Not, ‘that was great’ or ‘you were amazing’. You’re just worried about the laundry?”

John chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that is a bit silly.” He leaned forward to cup Sherlock’s face in his hands. “That was amazing though.” Sherlock’s eyes fluttered for a moment and he smiled.

“You were great.”

“You were _fantastic_.”

Sherlock kissed him, slow and sweet. They kissed like they had all the time in the world, and to John they did. Nothing else mattered in that moment other than him and Sherlock.

Soon tiredness overtook both of them, their minds finally catching on to the exhaustion of their bodies after such exertion, and they set about getting ready for bed. John took a shower while Sherlock carried the blanket to the laundry room.

Once the adrenaline and other hormones began to fade from his system, John realised what he had done.

He’d made a mistake. How could he have let his judgement get so clouded? His only hope was that he could find Jim first thing Monday morning to tell him the dare had been over long ago for him, and that would be the end of that. No one other than him and Sherlock needed to know what they’d done, and Sherlock didn’t need to know about the dare. Everything would be fine … he hoped.

John sat in his pyjamas on Sherlock’s bed and waited for Sherlock to finish showering, forcing himself to look calmer than he felt when Sherlock emerged. They climbed beneath the covers and cuddled up together, Sherlock’s head resting on John’s chest beneath his chin. John found himself unable to sleep that night, so instead he watched Sherlock as he slept, and tried to not let himself be consumed by guilt before morning came.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out!  
> Thanks to tumblr user justsuperblue for looking over this chapter!

Sherlock slept like an angel. John watched him with his hands pillowed beneath his head, his eyelashes fanning out over his sharp cheekbones, and his cupid’s bow lips slightly parted. It was like staring at a porcelain doll.

The metaphor became more fitting when John realized just how fragile Sherlock was. He remembered the look on Sherlock’s face just hours ago when he told John his mother had abandoned him. He remembered the pain in Sherlock’s eyes when he told John the reason why. John hoped he never had to see that again – that he never had to see Sherlock so torn. To see someone as beautiful and as wonderful as Sherlock in such distress broke John’s heart ten times over.

He cursed Sherlock’s mother, father, and brother, for failing Sherlock so terribly. He cursed his mother for leaving her son behind, for not bothering to stay and see just how amazing her child would become, for not sheltering him from the world like a mother should. He cursed his father for abandoning his son as well, and for making him feel unwanted in his own home. He cursed Sherlock’s brother for depriving him of a support system. From the way Sherlock spoke of his brother John could tell he respected him, and yet all he heard Sherlock say was how his brother looked down on him, and how he couldn’t seem to get away from him fast enough. He left for college at the age of fifteen not because he wanted to get a head start on his education, but because, in Sherlock’s words, “it would take him away from here”.

Sherlock shifted in his sleep, threw an arm over John’s middle, and held him tight. Even in his sleep Sherlock seemed afraid of being abandoned. His fingers dug into John’s side but he didn’t mind. He covered Sherlock’s hand with his own.

“You don’t deserve this,” John whispered to the darkness surrounding them. With his other hand he smoothed down Sherlock’s hair. “You don’t deserve what I’ve done to you.”

Sherlock remained silent. His breathing remained even. John wanted to pull him tight against his chest and bury his face in Sherlock’s curls, but he settled for burying his hand in Sherlock’s hair instead.

“You’re so beautiful. Amazing. The most amazing person I’ve ever met. I’m so lucky to know you. I’m so lucky to be able to call you mine. I love you.” John sighed. “But I don’t deserve you.”

Sherlock stirred and John held his breath, afraid he had somehow woken him. Sherlock burrowed further into John and he felt a fresh wave of emotions flood his system. Joy, guilt, love, remorse – they all blended into one confusing sea that John was sure he would soon drown in if he didn’t let his mind rest.

He allowed himself one last look at Sherlock’s sleeping face, then closed his eyes.

Aside from the dark cloud of guilt hanging over John’s head, the rest of the weekend was pure bliss. He and Sherlock made pancakes the next morning and danced around the kitchen to old rock songs, taking pauses every other song to snog against a counter.

During the day they worked on homework, watched movies, and did a bit more snogging. In the evenings they ate dinner, watched the sunset, and fooled around in Sherlock’s bed. They didn’t go _that far_ again – John wouldn’t allow himself to. However, Sherlock did have several more ‘love bites’ by the time John left Sherlock’s house Sunday evening.

On Monday morning, John sent Greg a text telling him that he wanted to speak with Jim as soon as possible. John’s entire body felt numb as he pulled on his clothes, but he felt calm. He knew it was all about to be over, and he could face the day with that confidence. He knew that a long and happy relationship with Sherlock was on the other side of a confrontation with Jim. John focused on that even as he gathered his things from his locker.

Sherlock was leaning against the metal door of his own locker, chattering away about something he had read the night before in an astronomy book. Every time John glanced over at him his eyes were drawn to the two dark purple marks on his neck. Sherlock was wearing a collared shirt, but it did little to hide them.

John took a break from his worrying about Greg and Jim to admire his handiwork. The moment soon passed, however, and soon John was back to thinking of how to find Greg and Jim within the next fifteen minutes.

“What is it John? You seem distressed.”

“It’s nothing, really,” John said, closing his locker. “I just need to talk to Greg about something kind of urgent, and I’m a bit nervous.”

“What is it that you need to talk to him about?”

Fortunately, John had a response prepared should Sherlock ask such a thing.

“It’s sort of personal. Something happened between a few of us rugby guys. It’s nothing you’d be too interested in.”

As expected, Sherlock seemed to deem John’s response as satisfactory and gave a curt nod.

“Very well then, I’ll go with you to find Greg.” He pushed himself off of his locker. “That is alright, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.” Unfortunately, John couldn’t think of a reason for Sherlock to not accompany him. He could protest, but he knew Sherlock wouldn’t stay to hear what he and Greg were going to discuss anyway.

Sherlock grabbed his hand and held it tightly as they walked down the halls. John squeezed Sherlock’s hand but his eyes continued to search the many faces they passed. Greg was most likely still at his locker, but John didn’t want to take the chance of missing him should they pass in the hall.

The hallway near Greg’s locker was far from crowded, so it was easy to spot the group of boys standing several feet away. John felt his heart sink to his stomach when he saw who was standing at the front of the group. He swallowed hard and forced himself to keep moving forward.

“Well,” Jim said when John and Sherlock approached them. “If those love bites are any indication, I’d say you finally completed the dare, John.”

Oh, _no_.

“What? John?” Sherlock turned to him, tugging on his hand slightly. John couldn’t bear to face him. He was too busy fighting the urge to strangle Jim, and fighting the urge to just run away.

“It- It’s nothing-”

“You see,” Jim began, cutting him off. John’s jaw clenched and he felt Sherlock stiffen beside him. “I dared John a while back to _seduce_ you. Took bloody forever, but congratulations, John. You get to keep your title of King of Dares.”

John opened his mouth to respond, but before he was able, Sherlock had wrenched his hand from John’s and started walking away. John immediately went after him, not caring what he looked like or what Jim would have to say. All that mattered was Sherlock.

_Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock, no._

“Sherlock! Wait! Please let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Sherlock spat, spinning around to face him. His posture was stiff and his eyes were hard. John couldn’t believe what was happening. He couldn’t believe Sherlock was looking at him like that. It had been only moments ago those eyes had been full of love, and now all John saw was hurt, betrayal, and loathing.

“There’s nothing for you to explain. You slept with me _on a dare_. You were toying with me from day one!”

“No, Sherlock, it wasn’t-”

“You know, I talked to my brother about you when you first wanted me to tutor you. And you know what he said? That I should be glad someone was finally ‘taking an interest’ in me.” He sucked in a breath and his frown became impossibly deeper. “I wonder if he would have said the same thing if he knew just what it was you were _interested_ in.”

“Sherlock, no, it’s not like that.”

Sherlock was seething at this point. His fists were clenched and he was practically shaking with anger. “Did you or did you not agree to whatever dare that idiot Jim gave you?”

“ … I did.”

Sherlock lifted his chin. “Then we’re done here.”

“Sherlock-”

“You leave me the _hell_ alone, John Watson!” It was then that John noticed the tears in Sherlock’s reddened eyes. “I never want to speak to you again.”

John knew it was supposed to sound tough, threatening, enraged. But all Sherlock sounded was broken – irrevocably damaged beyond repair. And it was all John’s fault. He had never hated himself more than he had in that moment. He stood paralyzed with guilt, watching helplessly as Sherlock turned and stiffly walked away, disappearing around the corner without a glance back.

John’s legs felt like they were going to give out on him any second. He managed to make it to a locker and leaned against it, covering his face with his hands.

He couldn’t even process what had just happened. It was all a blur. All John could remember was Jim and that stupid grin, and then Sherlock walking away.

Suddenly John was overcome with an intense anger he’d never felt before in his life. He turned on his heel and stormed back to where he knew Jim and the rest of the rugby team were still gathered.

“Oh, what’s this John? Did he not take the news-”

Jim didn’t get to finish his sentence, because the minute John reached him he swung out and punched him in the jaw. Jim staggered back, his hands flying to his face, and suddenly John felt two pairs of hands grabbing at his arms, pulling him back. The adrenaline rush gave him enough strength to break free and he went after Jim again, pinning him to the ground and landing several more punches before he was lifted off.

He could hear noise, something that sounded like shouting, but it all sounded so distant. The loudest sound was the blood singing in his ears and his own ragged voice shouting expletives at Jim, who was still on the ground.

Then everything went black.

* * *

John was suspended from school for a week. His mother was horrified when she heard the news. Harry was delighted that John was the one in trouble for once. John didn’t care what either of them thought. He didn’t care what anyone thought.

He’d lost Sherlock.

Left alone in his room with nothing to occupy him, John’s thoughts ran on a cyclical track. He couldn’t stop himself from remembering that morning, the look on Sherlock’s face before he turned and walked out of John’s life, the smug look on Jim’s face and how great it felt to wipe it off.

He’d blacked out apparently. He couldn’t remember what happened after being pried off of Jim. According to eyewitness accounts he’d managed to break free once more and by the time he and Jim were separated for good, Jim was in urgent need of medical assistance.

John stared down at his bruised knuckles. They were a glaring reminder of the monster he’d become. He had managed to inflict both emotional and physical pain that morning. How had he managed to stoop so low?

He tried calling Sherlock once, but it went straight to voicemail. He’d spent the next three hours feeling like an idiot for thinking Sherlock would even want to speak to him. If he were in Sherlock’s place talking to him would be the last thing he wanted to do. Still, John needed to know how Sherlock was doing – if Sherlock was self-destructing. He knew he wouldn’t be able to intervene, but he might be able to find someone who could if Sherlock needed help.

The week dragged on with nothing to do but do the homework Greg brought for him each day. John never got to see Greg. His mother always intercepted the work and delivered it to John in his room. Once his mother realized John still had his phone she confiscated it, so there was really no way for John to talk to Greg. He was completely alone.

By the time his suspension drew to a close, John was an absolute wreck. He’d barely slept that week and it showed. There were bags under his eyes and his posture was slumped. He looked tired and defeated.

He kept his head down as he walked through the halls. He pretended he didn’t hear the curious whispers. He ignored the pointed stares and fingers. He marched onwards, trying not to think about what might be waiting at his locker.

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed to see that Sherlock wasn’t there. He stopped walking several feet away. He glanced around him, checking to see if Sherlock was somewhere nearby, perhaps waiting for John to get his things and leave. He didn’t see him.

John went through the motions of unlocking the door, grabbing what he needed and putting away what he didn’t. He closed the door and turned to lean against the locker, resting his head against the cool metal.

Still no sign of Sherlock.

He was probably avoiding him. John couldn’t blame him one bit. Still, he needed to see Sherlock. He stepped away from his locker and found a spot a ways down the hall where he could hide and wait to see if Sherlock came.

He waited there five minutes after the bell rang.

Sherlock never showed.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to tumblr user justsuperblue for being a wonderful beta!

John’s first day back wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Jim was certainly less than friendly, but the ferocity of his glares was lessened by what was left of the black eye John had given him. He felt an odd mixture of guilt and pride when he saw Jim for the first time at lunch.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he returned, but he sure hadn’t been expecting the heartfelt welcome his team gave him when he sat down at their table.

“There he is, we’ve missed you!” Phillip gave John a solid slap on the back. Greg smiled warmly at him from across the table. Sebastian and Samuel both told him how pleased they were to see him again. Jim sat at the end of the table silently picking at his meal.

John turned to look at Sherlock’s table. He saw Molly, Irene, and Janine, but Sherlock wasn’t there, and that worried him. He hadn’t seen Sherlock at all that day. Every time he went to his locker there was no sign of him, he didn’t see Sherlock in the halls, and now he was missing from lunch. If he wasn’t in Chemistry John would know something was very wrong.

When he finally made it to Chemistry, however, John found himself wishing that Sherlock hadn’t been there. He’d moved from his original spot to a seat on the other side of the room, as far away from John as he could get. He kept his head down the entire time and he didn’t speak. The moment the bell rang he was out of his seat and gone.

John went straight to his locker but Sherlock still wasn’t there.

John’s first practice since returning went much better than expected. He wasn’t as out of shape as he’d feared he would be after missing a week of workouts, but he was still a bit winded when Coach blew the final whistle.

He was working on unlacing his shoes when he noticed a figure looming over him. Glancing up, he saw Sebastian standing before him with his hands on his hips. He nodded to the empty spot of bench beside where John was sitting.

“This seat taken?”

John shook his head, and Sebastian sat down.

“Look, John, I just want to see how you’re doing. It’s been a while since we last talked, and a lot has happened.”

John didn’t respond and tried to look busy with his shoes. Sebastian sighed.

“I had nothing to do with it, you know. I didn’t know Jim was going to give you that dare, and I certainly had no idea it would end like this. I’m really sorry it did, though.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I hope you know nobody on the team is on Jim’s side. What he did wasn’t cool at all. Everybody could tell you two were crazy about each other.”

John bit his lip and turned away. He couldn’t let Sebastian know how affected he was. Even if it was so blatantly obvious he was smitten with Sherlock. He’d lost him, and it didn’t matter how in love with him he was. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I hope you guys will be okay.”

“Thanks…”

Sebastian got up to leave, and John let out a shaky breath. He buried his face in his hands and tried to block out any thoughts of Sherlock, of what he’d done, and of what Sebastian had said.

The next week was rough for John. The only things that made it bearable were the lunchtime chats he had with Greg and Sebastian, and the chance to blow off steam at practice. They were entering into the semi-finals later that month, and thankfully John was able to channel all of his anger and frustration into being the best rugby player he could be.

John and Greg didn’t spend more time together like John had initially believed would happen. He soon discovered it was because Greg was dating some girl in his History class. John understood all too well how easy it was to get caught up in a new relationship, so he didn’t fault Greg at all.

John’s after school socializing soon became limited to brief talks with Sebastian after practice that gradually grew in length as the days progressed. Now that Sebastian wasn’t spending nearly as much time with Jim anymore and John’s social life was almost non-existent, they had more free time to spend talking to each other.

One day Sebastian suggested they grab a bite to eat after practice while he and John were pulling on their shoes. John looked up, saw the hopeful yet cautious look on Sebastian’s face, and frowned. He knew that look. He’d seen it on Sherlock’s face many times, usually before he asked John for a cuddle or something else equally as cushy.

“Are you asking me out?” John asked with only a hint of trepidation. Sebastian shrugged and shook his head.

“Not really, no.”

“Good,” John said. “Let’s go then.”

Sebastian smiled at him but said nothing else. They went to a nearby Mexican restaurant and gorged themselves on quesadillas and tortilla chips. Sebastian talked about some of the antics he used to get up to with Jim, and John talked about the pranks he used to play on his sister when they were young. The conversation with Sebastian was light and flowed with ease. He was funny and a great storyteller, and his laugh was infectious. For the first time in what felt like forever, John actually smiled and laughed, and didn’t think about Sherlock. Of course, that only made him feel worse when he got home and remembered why it was he was able to spend that time with Sebastian in the first place.

Still, he allowed his friendship with Sebastian to grow until they were almost as close as he and Mike were. They texted all the time, even during class, which John had never done before. Thankfully his teachers didn’t seem to care. At least, John hadn’t thought they did.

One day his English teacher caught him when he laughed at a joke Sebastian had texted to him, and she sent him out of the classroom. He wandered the halls for a few moments unsure of what to do or where to go. He could hide out in the bathroom, or he could just go wait outside his next class for … how much time did he have to kill, anyway?

He checked his watch. There was still twenty minutes until the next class change. There was no way he was going to just sit on a dirty floor for that long. He ultimately decided to go to his locker. His footsteps echoed loudly in the empty halls.

Emptiness.

It had become a familiar feeling to him. He hadn’t realized before Sherlock just how empty his life was. Sure, he had his studies to keep him busy and yes, he had rugby and his friends to talk to at lunch and after practice, but there was no substance to these things. At least, nothing compared to the way Sherlock made him feel.

Even his relationship with Greg had dissolved into occasional chats in the hallway and a text every blue moon. John blamed himself for that. He basically threw Greg to the wayside in favour of spending time with Sherlock. He didn’t blame Greg for replacing him in much the same manner.

John had met his girlfriend once after practice, but he didn’t remember much about her. She had blonde hair and freckles and looked at Greg like he was the sun to her solar system. John remembered the times he’d caught Sherlock looking at him in much the same way, and felt a strange twisting in his chest.

Perhaps John’s life wasn’t entirely empty, he mused. He still felt pain.

He kept his head down and his hands in his pockets as he walked. He was almost at his locker, and by now he could navigate these halls with his eyes closed.

John turned the last corner, lifted his head, and froze.

Sherlock stood just several feet away at his locker, so far unaware of John’s presence. John swallowed hard and marched onwards. When he reached his locker and Sherlock still hadn’t even looked at him, he realised he was being ignored. He should have known; as observant as Sherlock was, there was no way he hadn’t noticed the minute John stepped into the hallway.

“Um … fancy meeting you here.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but made no comment. John cleared his throat. “You know, I was starting to think maybe you’d switched lockers or something.”

“Don’t be daft, John. I was just avoiding you.”

Sherlock’s words were cold, harsh. They stung John’s heart like icy weather stings the skin. John flinched and reached up to rub the back of his neck.

“Right,” he said slowly. “I can’t say I blame you.”

Sherlock shut his locker door with more force than was warranted and turned to leave.

“Sherlock, wait!”

“I’ve nothing to say to you, nor am I interested in anything you have to say to me. Goodbye.”

“Sherlock!” Desperate to keep him close, John reached out and grabbed Sherlock’s arm. He froze on the spot, and John immediately regretted his action. He could feel how tense Sherlock was, and that tension only grew with each passing second. Sherlock could easily have freed himself if he wanted to though. If he was so angry, why didn’t he?

“Let go of me,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Will you give me the chance to apologise?” There was no answer. “I know what I did was terrible, and you have every right to hate me, but you should know it stopped being a dare a long time ago.”

Sherlock turned his head to glare at John over his shoulder. “It was never just a dare for me, though.”

He jerked free of John’s grasp and walked away. John listened to the echoing of his hurried footsteps until they could no longer be heard.

Sherlock wasn’t in Chemistry that day.

After school, Sebastian suggested they go to Northlake and watch geese fight over bread. They did, and John told Sebastian about his encounter with Sherlock in the hallway over a couple of milkshakes they purchased before arriving at the park.

“He’s still into you,” was Sebastian’s immediate response when John stopped talking.

John snorted and shook his head. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me. He hates me now.”

Sebastian took a big sip of his milkshake. “Did you hear what he said, though? That it was never just a dare for him. He was genuinely into you. Very much so, it looked like. I doubt feelings like that can go away so soon.”

John sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, I’d like to think there’s still a chance-”

“There is.”

“Anyway,” John said, casting an annoyed glance in Sebastian’s direction. “I just don’t know what to do.” He sighed and started to stand. “I have a lot of homework to do though, so I should probably head home.”

Sebastian nodded and stood too. “Normally I would say something about you spending just enough time with me to bemoan your relationship problems, but I actually have a date to get ready for.”

John raised an eyebrow. “A date? Really?”

“Well, _you_ wouldn’t date me, so I found someone who would.”

“But you never –”

“Chill, John. I’m joking with you. Besides, you’re still hung up on Sherlock. Even if I did ask you out, and you did say yes for some convoluted reason, I know you would be thinking about him the entire time.”

There was a smile on Sebastian’s face, but John wondered if it was hiding another emotion. One thing about Sebastian was John had trouble discerning if he was joking or not. In this case, he hoped Sebastian _was_ joking. At least, he thought he hoped that.

He took a long, hard look at Sebastian. He was attractive by conventional standards; strong jawline, bright blue eyes, and a smile full of straight white teeth. He was smart, with a great sense of humour, and he was a great listener. Anyone would be lucky to date him. But, thinking that didn’t mean John wanted to, right? He came to the conclusion that it was a good thing Sebastian never asked him out. He wasn’t sure what his answer would have been if he had.

John’s train of thought was derailed when he and Sebastian turned to leave the park.

Sherlock was standing just inside the entrance beside another boy who was about a head taller than him with fine auburn hair and grey eyes. For a moment John felt a hot flash of jealousy flare up in side of him. Then he took a closer look.

The piercing eyes were not the only thing Sherlock and this boy had in common. They had the same posture, clothing style, and almost identical expressions of distaste on their faces.

John felt his jaw drop. That had to be Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft. He was exactly as Sherlock described him. John didn’t understand how he didn’t realize who it was right away.

Sherlock’s eyes met John’s and widened slightly before an expressionless mask settled over his face. John watched his eyes dart between him and Sebastian before he turned and started walking quickly to the other side of the park. John groaned; He could only imagine what sort of conclusions Sherlock had drawn.

John’s eyes went to Mycroft’s and, if looks could kill, John was certain he would have been seven feet under.

So much for making a good impression on Sherlock’s family, John thought.

He remembered the times he would imagine himself meeting Sherlock’s father and brother. There was always a part of him that wanted their approval, despite the fact that Sherlock didn’t seem to care much about what they thought.

He supposed none of that mattered now.

John followed Sebastian out of the park, but he couldn’t resist taking a look over his shoulder. Sherlock and his brother were sitting on a bench facing the lake. Both of their heads were turned to the side, but whether it was to talk to each other or to watch John in their peripheral vision, he wasn’t sure.

* * *

Sherlock was standing at his locker Monday morning when John arrived. His heart skipped a beat, but John maintained a cool composure as he approached.

“Morning. I see you’ve decided to stop avoiding me.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and John sighed. “Look, we’re going to be locker neighbours for the rest of the school year. I see no reason why we can’t be at least cordial with one another.”

Sherlock scoffed. A moment of silence passed between them while they gathered their books.

“Just so you know,” John began with a quick glance in Sherlock’s direction. “Sebastian is-”

“I don’t need or want to know anything about your association with _Sebastian_.”

John couldn’t ignore the way Sherlock spat out Sebastian’s name. He closed his locker and turned to Sherlock with his eyes narrowed.

“You know, you’re not allowed to be jealous anymore.”

Sherlock fixed John with a glare so heated he was surprised it didn’t cause him to spontaneously combust. “Excuse me?”

Well, it was too late to back down now. At least Sherlock was speaking to him. John straightened his shoulders and met Sherlock’s glare head on. “You heard me. You gave up that right when you walked away from me.” He sucked in a breath. “When you walked away from _us._ ”

Sherlock winced, and it took every ounce of John’s willpower to not apologise.

“Are you really trying to make it my fault?”

“No! And you’d know that I blame myself for everything and you’d know how terrible I feel if you’d ever given me the chance to explain and apologise!”

“What you did is unforgiveable, John.”

“Sherlock, look, I know. And I have no right to ask this of you, but just listen to me. Please.” Sherlock didn’t respond, but he didn’t walk away, so John took it as a sign to continue. “Okay, yes, the only reason I first talked to you was because of a dare and yes, I let it go on for much longer than it should have, but can you honestly believe that none of that was real?”

John saw Sherlock’s glare falter, and rejoiced in his head. He knew all he had to do was push a little further and he might be able to get through to Sherlock.

“Think back to that weekend. That night.”

Sherlock made a pained expression and closed his eyes. “John…”

“Can you really believe _that_ wasn’t real?” He took a step closer. “Open your eyes, Sherlock. Look at me now.”

Sherlock did as John said, and for the first time since that dreadful day, John felt like he was looking at the real Sherlock. What he saw before him was not the closed off, brooding persona that Sherlock presented to the world, but the scared, sensitive young boy that Sherlock had only ever let John see.

“Look into my eyes, right now, and tell me that what you see is anything but l-”

“No.”

Without another word, Sherlock pushed past John and disappeared around the corner. John covered his face and leaned back against his locker.

He had been _so close._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait guys. And just an FYI: this thing only has a few more chapters left. Like, I'm talking three tops. But probably just two more. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and leaving kudos and comments! I love you all!


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'd so sorry for any mistakes!   
> Also sorry for the wait, and I should be getting the last chapter out to you by the end of this week!

Days passed with no progress with Sherlock. It was worse than having to start over from square one. John had so much ground to cover before he even got to square one.

Thankfully, Sherlock was cordial when others were present. It was only when the hallway crowd thinned out and John pressed the issue of their relationship that Sherlock snapped at him. And yet, John continued to push. He didn’t know how to leave Sherlock alone. He needed him in his life, even if the only time he heard Sherlock say his name was after he’d already said the words “piss off”.

Eventually, Sherlock began avoiding John again. The only times John saw him were at lunch or in Chemistry. Sherlock was always across the room though, never looking in John’s direction. John started to lose hope.

One day at practice Sebastian made the suggestion of just giving up on Sherlock and trying to move on, but when he saw the look John gave him he immediately shut up and they didn’t speak about Sherlock for a while after that.

The truth was, John had tried to get over Sherlock – he really had – but it was impossible. Everything reminded him of Sherlock. Every person with dark hair transformed into Sherlock before his eyes. Every song he heard made him think of the time he spent listening to Sherlock play his violin. Every time he looked up at the sky he thought about how blue Sherlock’s eyes looked in the right light. Every sunset made him think back to that beautiful night, and of all the pain that came after it.

Maybe it really was time to let go, and stop entertaining the idea that Sherlock would ever take him back. He screwed up, he broke Sherlock’s heart, and now it was his turn to suffer.

“Watson! Look alive out there!”

The sound of the coach’s whistle tore John away from his thoughts and brought him back to the field. Greg and Sebastian were giving him curious looks, but he paid them no attention. He tried to shake the thoughts of Sherlock from his mind and focus on practice, but all he could think about was his last conversation with Sherlock. He remembered the look of panic on Sherlock’s face when he realised John was about to tell him he loved him. He remembered the force behind his ‘No’.

What had that no meant? Was Sherlock just trying to spare John the embarrassment of having his love rejected? Or had Sherlock stopped him because he still felt something for him and he didn’t trust himself to walk away knowing that John loved him.

John suddenly regretted never telling Sherlock just how strongly he felt for him. Then again, would it have mattered if he had? Sherlock would probably just convince himself that John had only said that as part of the dare.

A herd of rugby players ran by him, nearly knocking him over, and Coach blew his whistle again.

“Watson! What’s the matter with you today?”

“Are you alright, mate?” Greg asked, running up to lay a hand on his shoulder. John sighed and nodded his head.

“I’m fine. Just having an off day.” He smiled, hoping it would be enough for Greg to leave him alone, but he could tell by the look on his face that Greg wasn’t buying it. A moment later a look of realization dawned on his face and John groaned. Greg tightened his hold on John.

“It’s Sherlock.” It wasn’t a question. John sighed and nodded his head. Greg gave him a pat on the back, but said nothing else. There was nothing to say.

When practice was finally over, Sebastian dragged John off of the field to keep him away from Coach. John was thankful for that. Who knows what kind of lecture he would have had to endure had he been left alone to fend for himself.

Unfortunately, practice didn’t get better. John found it increasingly hard to keep his mind on the game, because he was too busy not thinking about Sherlock. He was so distracted trying to think of anything other than Sherlock he ended up thinking about nothing at all, and as a result became a hindrance to his team. Coach was angry with him, his teammates were getting frustrated, and John was furious with himself. Rugby was supposed to be one of the few things he had left after Sherlock. Now he was losing that too. And with playoffs coming up, and scouts and university approaching faster than he was ready for, he couldn’t afford to ruin his chances at getting a scholarship. There was too much on the line.

He needed a break. The last few weeks had been spent either surrounded by people at school or struggling to get through his homework after practice before he passed out at his desk. He hadn’t had any time to himself in what felt like forever, and maybe that was his problem.

Without any warning, John took off his helmet and sprinted off the field during warm ups. He heard people shouting after him but he ignored them and continued running. He had no idea where he was going but he knew he had to get away from there. It wasn’t like they were going to miss him that much after how badly he’d been playing the last few practices.

Eventually John made it inside the school. He paused just inside the door he’d entered to enjoy the feeling of the cool air conditioning, then started walking. He found a bench just outside the front office and sat down, placing his helmet beside him.

He tried to do some deep breathing exercises, or anything that would help calm him down. He knew he couldn’t stay there forever, but he didn’t want to go back out there while he was still riled up.

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The silence that surrounded him was peaceful, therapeutic almost. There was a time he hated silence; all it did was remind him of how empty his life was. He still wasn’t fond of emptiness, but silence he could deal with. Silence was soothing. He let it wrap around him like a blanket, shielding him from the world just for a moment.

He heard footsteps approaching and fought the urge to groan aloud. He figured it was one of his teammates come to find him. His guess was it was either Greg or Sebastian. He opened his eyes and looked to his left in time to see Sherlock come around the corner, several books held tightly against his chest.

When Sherlock saw John he stopped in his tracks and stared blankly at him. “John.”

“Hi, Sherlock.”

Sherlock tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “What, have you been waiting here for me or something?”

John sat there for a moment, staring at Sherlock. He stared directly into Sherlock’s eyes, those eyes that looked back at him with no emotion in them, and sighed.

“Actually, no.” Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up, like he couldn’t believe John wasn’t actually there for him, like he couldn’t fathom the idea that John had a better way to spend his time aside from fawning over him, and something in John snapped. “No, Sherlock. I’m not waiting for you.” He stood up and turned to face Sherlock fully. “You know, this has gone on too long.  I … I can’t do this anymore.” Sherlock stared blankly at him. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I really am sorry for everything. But I’ve done everything I can and it hasn’t worked. It hasn’t been enough.”

John felt hot tears pricking the backs of his eyes but he swallowed them down and forced himself to continue. “I love you, Sherlock. I have loved you, but I can’t keep this up. You’ve made it very clear where you stand, as have I. Now, my stance won’t change any time soon, but if yours does … well …” He shrugged.  “You know where to find me.” He tried his best to give Sherlock a smile, but he was sure it came out more like a grimace than anything. “My phone number is still the same, assuming you haven’t deleted it.”

Sherlock glanced down. “I haven’t.”

A strange feeling welled up inside of John at Sherlock’s admission, but he squashed it and gave a curt nod.

“Right, well, I’ve got a practice to get to. Um, goodbye Sherlock.”

For the first time, it was John who turned and walked away, leaving Sherlock behind, alone and staring after him. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, but he guessed it was for the better. The pain would fade eventually, he hoped.

Coach was more than displeased when John returned to the field and he let John know it, but John couldn’t have cared less. He stood silently and waited for his tirade to be over, then joined the huddle and practice resumed like nothing had happened. He was already starting to see an improvement in his play. He was faster, more focused, and even managed to score once.

Greg greeted him with a wide smile in the locker room, and Sebastian made a comment about how great practice was. John tried to smile and laugh along with his other teammates, but he couldn’t quite get to their level. There was still that sadness lurking in the back of his mind, the constant reminder that he’d given up something very important that day.

Sherlock was at his locker the next morning, but John didn’t say anything to him. As far as he was concerned, the ball was in Sherlock’s court. If they were ever to speak again, it would be because Sherlock initiated it. Otherwise …

John didn’t want to think about the otherwise. It was still too painful. He grabbed his things as quickly as he could and turned to leave, glancing at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye as he went.

He almost stopped when he saw the expression on his face. It was a mix between confusion and disbelief. Perhaps Sherlock hadn’t really expected John to leave him alone. John thought back to the previous afternoon, to the look on Sherlock’s face when John told him he wasn’t waiting for him. John hadn’t thought much of it then, but what if the look on Sherlock’s face hadn’t just been surprise?

Did Sherlock want John to keep fighting for him? Was that it? It made sense. After everything he’d been through, it would take more convincing that John really did care for him and wanted to be with him. John had given up after only a few weeks. By doing so, had he somehow ruined his chances with Sherlock? Had he managed to break Sherlock’s heart _again_?

John turned around to look for Sherlock, but he was no longer at his locker.

John spent the rest of the day trying to figure out if he’d made the right choice, and ultimately coming to the decision that he hadn’t. Someone as special as Sherlock was worth fighting for.

John couldn’t afford this. He couldn’t allow himself to get lost on that path again. Their first playoff game was only a week away and he needed to focus on that. If they did well the chances of John getting a scholarship would increase significantly. Once rugby season was over, John was going to win Sherlock back. Until then, he had to keep his distance. He could do that.

The next day John didn’t see Sherlock at his locker, nor did he see him at lunch. He was in Chemistry, however, and locked eyes with John the moment he stepped into the room. John was thrown off by this, as Sherlock usually kept his head down and avoided eye contact with everyone, especially John. John was probably looking too much into things but he couldn’t shake the feeling that that meant something.

Practice was fine. Better than fine, in fact. John was once again on fire on the field and it felt amazing. His teammates were in good spirits, and John was able to crack a smile when Phillip and Samuel got into a game of tug of war with a towel that each boy claimed was actually his.

Greg’s girlfriend was out of town due to a family function, so he joined John and Sebastian for an after practice meal. They stopped at a Thai restaurant near their school and stayed there for hours. It felt so good to just be able to laugh and joke around with his two closest friends. There was thankfully no awkwardness with Greg, and Sebastian was as hilarious as always.

While the trio was making their way to school where Greg and Sebastian had left their cars, they passed Sherlock on the sidewalk. John was able to get over his shock in time to give Sherlock a friendly smile, and Sherlock lifted his hand in a half-hearted wave as he walked by.

Both Greg and Sebastian nudged John in the side, and he promptly told both of them to bugger off.

John turned to look over his shoulder in time to see Sherlock starting to walk again. When he turned back and saw the looks on his friends’ faces he rolled his eyes and marched ahead of them, ignoring the pounding of his heart against his rib cage.

Was he actually making progress with Sherlock? Or had that just been because they weren’t alone? It took all of five minutes for John to get lost in thoughts of Sherlock again. When he walked through his front door he had no memory of how he even got there.

When he showed up at school the next morning he had no idea what to expect when he saw Sherlock. He had thought that after his conversation with Sherlock in the hallway that afternoon, Sherlock would want nothing to do with him. And yet, the opposite seemed to be happening.

John was brave enough to greet Sherlock with a ‘hello’ when he met him at their lockers.

“Good morning,” was Sherlock’s reply. Then no more words were said. The silence between them wasn’t quite awkward, but John still felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for Sherlock to say or do something. Eventually, Sherlock closed his locker door, but he didn’t leave.

“There’s … going to be a pop quiz on molecular structure today in Chemistry.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have my methods.” With that he turned and left, leaving an awestruck John behind in his wake.

John spent his entire lunchtime reading over his notes on molecular structure, not bothering to explain to his friends why he was ignoring them.

“Hey, John,” Greg said. “Is there anything you have to tell me?”

John lifted his head to squint at Greg. “What?”

“Sherlock.”

John turned in his seat and looked at Sherlock’s table. Sherlock quickly ducked his head down, but John had seen him. He was staring at him again. When John went back to his studying there was a smile on his face.

Sure enough, there was a pop quiz. John glanced over at Sherlock while the quizzes were being passed out and smiled. Sherlock smirked back, then began working.

From there things with Sherlock seemed to improve drastically. Sometimes Sherlock greeted him at their locker, sometimes he just gave him a nod. One day John opened his locker to find several pages of handwritten notes stuffed inside. He could recognise the handwriting anywhere; it was Sherlock’s.

They weren’t necessarily on friendly terms, but Sherlock was no longer acting as if he hated John. It really felt like John had finally made back it to square one, and there was nowhere to go here other than up. John was in a better mood than he had been in a long time.

He was feeling particularly swell after practice the day before their first playoff game. The team had played phenomenally and John was confident they would win their game tomorrow. There was a smile on his face when he came out of the shower and it lasted while he got dressed. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time and the smile was wiped from his face. He had a text from Sherlock. With a shaking hand he unlocked his phone and opened the message, and his heart nearly stopped when he read what it said.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is! The final chapter! It's a bit shorter than the last ones have been, but there's not much more I could have put in here. I'm sure you'll still enjoy what's in here. :)
> 
> Also, this chapter is unbeta'd so I apologise for any mistakes!

_Tomorrow I’ll be in the library until 4:30. Feel free to do whatever you’d like with that information. –SH_

Those words were permanently etched into John’s mind. He remembered the time he’d heard Sherlock say something very similar to that. When he first agreed to be his tutor. That seemed like such a long time ago now.

Finally, John understood. They really had started out at square one. Sherlock telling him about the pop quiz and giving him his notes was just his telling him in his own special way that he was ready to start over and that he was ready to take John back. How had he not seen it before?

Because he was an idiot. John had come to fully accept that now. He was an idiot to accept the dare, he was an idiot in the way he went about trying to complete it, and he was an idiot for how he handled everything that happened between them. But somehow, he’d managed to win Sherlock over and he was overjoyed.

At least, he hoped that’s what all of this meant. What if Sherlock was actually going to tell John that he was over him and asked him to give up on them. Or, what if he was only interested in being friends with John? As painful as it would be, John would readily accept that reality. He would do anything just to have Sherlock back in his life.

By the time John arrived at his locker he was a nervous wreck. He had no idea what to expect, and it was terrifying. His palms were sweaty and his throat became dry just at the thought of talking to Sherlock.

When John saw that Sherlock wasn’t at his locker, he wasn’t sure if the breath he let out was a sigh of relief or disappointment. Then at lunch, Sherlock was still nowhere to be found and John realised he was disappointed. Sebastian and Greg, who knew about the text, noticed John’s preoccupation and worked together to keep him distracted.

John was grateful for them, but he still couldn’t help but to wonder what Sherlock’s absence meant.  Did Sherlock regret sending that text, but rather than say it to his face, he decided to just skip school that day hoping John would get the hint? Or perhaps something had happened to cause Sherlock to miss school. If that were the case though, wouldn't Sherlock text him and let him know? 

As awful as the thought was, John wouldn’t necessarily mind putting off their talk. The first playoff game was that afternoon, and though Greg and Sebastian had promised to cover for him, he didn’t really want to risk missing any of the game. Of course, if it came down to choosing between the game and Sherlock, John knew he would choose Sherlock. He already had chosen Sherlock. Missing one rugby game, even an important one, was nothing compared to missing out on a possible reconciliation with the boy he’d fallen in love with.

Sooner than John was ready for, it was time for Chemistry. Sherlock skipping lunch and not being at his locker had become a regular occurrence. However, Sherlock had never skipped class. When John walked into the room and saw that Sherlock’s seat was empty, he felt his heart sink to his stomach. He had no idea what to think of it. Was Sherlock really trying to tell him he’d changed his mind? It sure seemed like it.

It was with a heavy heart that John made his way to the locker room after school. The minute Greg saw him his face blanched and he rushed to John’s side.

“John? What are you doing here? What happened with Sherlock?”

“Nothing,” John said with a shrug. He began changing into his uniform. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

“You didn’t go to the library?”

“No.”

“You idiot!”

“What?” John finished pulling on his jersey and narrowed his eyes at Greg. “I haven’t seen him at all today, so why go to the library to be let down again.”

“Do you really think that just because you haven’t seen him that you shouldn’t at last check?”

“But he wasn’t in Chemistry. I don't think he came to school today.”

“He was here. I saw him. And you know what? He looked pretty anxious. I'm not surprised he was avoiding you earlier.” He sighed. “Put yourself in his position. Now, I don’t know Sherlock that well but … doesn’t it make sense for him to put off seeing you until he absolutely has to, even if it’s to tell you he still loves you and wants you back?”

“I … I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am. Now _go._ Before Coach sees you. Sebastian’s giving him an excuse for you as we speak.”

Greg began pushing John towards the door, not bothering to listen to his words of gratitude. John made his way to the library on unsteady legs, his pulse racing faster as he neared the double doors. He pushed them open with a shaking hand and stepped inside.

He saw Sherlock almost immediately. He was sitting at a table not too far away from the door, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. He looked genuinely surprised to see John, and he quickly began questioning his decision to come.

Then Sherlock stood and slowly made his way over to where John was standing, and the look on his face calmed John instantly.

“You came.” There was a smile in Sherlock’s eyes, and a soft reverence in his tone of voice. He seemed anything but displeased to see John. A smile was instantly brought to John's face. 

“Well, I … " John suddenly became aware that he had no idea of what to say, or of what Sherlock wanted or expected him to say. He cleared his throat. “Um … What exactly do – do you want from me? Why am I here?”

“You tell me.”

“I’m here … to apologise?”

Sherlock crossed his arms and smirked at John. “Are you? You don’t sound so sure.”

John fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Sherlock wasn’t planning to make this easy. “I am here to apologise … " He lowered his voice. "Even though I’ve already done it countless times ... ” Sherlock made a face, and John mentally kicked himself. “Sorry. Um, okay.” He sucked in a breath. “I know what I did was wrong on so many levels, but I have honestly learned my lesson. Sherlock, when I accepted that dare I had no idea what I was getting myself into. To be honest I didn’t even think I was going to complete it. You just seemed so–”

“Stuck up? Prudish?”

“Unattainable.” Sherlock’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his fringe, and John shrugged. “You’re way out of my league. I saw you as this brilliant and gorgeous loner who knew he was too good for someone like me. Then I got to know you, and the more I learned about you the more I wanted to know. You became an enigma that I knew I couldn’t solve but wanted to try anyway. So I continued to spend time with you. I got caught up. I didn’t realize it then, but you quickly became my top priority. I tried to convince myself it was all just a dare, and I treated it like a game, but somewhere along the way I fell in love with you.”

John chanced a look up at Sherlock, and he seemed to be holding his breath waiting for John to continue.

“Sherlock, I know I hurt you and I don’t think I will ever be able to express to you just how _sorry_ I am for that. No one deserves that, especially not you. Having to stand there and watch you walk away cut me to my very core. I know you heard about what happened between me and Jim after that.” Sherlock chuckled, and that brought a smile to John’s lips for a moment. “I thought I was mad at him, but I know now I was really just angry with myself. Because of my own stupidity, I'd lost the most important person in my life. Not a day goes by that I don’t hate myself for what I’ve done, and I know I don’t deserve it but Sherlock, please say you forgive me?”

Sherlock stood silent for several moments, watching John with calculating eyes.

“Well, that was some speech,” he finally said. He held John's gaze for a moment, then dropped his head and sighed. “John, what you did was horrible. And there is a part of me that is still so unbelievably pissed off at you. You know that.”

John bit his lip and nodded his head. Sherlock sighed again. “However, there is a bigger part of me that is still head over heels in love with you.”

John was speechless. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it sure wasn’t that. He stood with his mouth open, staring at Sherlock, who grew increasingly fidgety by the second.

Eventually, John regained his wits enough to reach out and place a hand on Sherlock’s cheek. “Can I kiss you now?”

“No.”

“Uh…”

“No, because _I_ want to kiss _you_.”

John didn’t get a chance to respond, because then Sherlock grabbed both sides of his face and pulled him in for an earthshattering kiss. John almost went limp before his hands scrabbled for purchase on Sherlock’s shoulders. Sherlock’s lips were unyielding, but gentle, hard yet undemanding. It was as if Sherlock were telling him that he still wanted him, while managing not to overwhelm him with this recent development.

When they finally pulled apart, John beamed at Sherlock, who gave him a watery smile. John reached up and ran the pad of his thumb beneath Sherlock’s eye, as if he were wiping away a tear. Sherlock breathed out a laugh, then leaned in to give John another quick kiss. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” John tilted his head up to give Sherlock another kiss, then pulled back enough to look into Sherlock's eyes. “So much.”

“Good.” Sherlock's eyes dropped down and his brow furrowed. “Um, do you have a practice to get to?”

“Hm?” Sherlock gestured to John’s jersey. “Oh! No, well, it's a game actually.”

“ _What?_ ” Sherlock’s eyes grew to twice their size. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, first I was apologizing, then I was kissing you.” John grinned and leaned in to kiss Sherlock again, but he pushed him away. “Wha-”

“Go to your game.”

“But-”

“ _Go._ ”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“And I don’t want you to get in trouble for missing a game.”

John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock silenced him with a hard kiss. “Go. I’ll see you later. We can make plans after your game.”

John nodded, gave Sherlock another kiss, then turned and left. When he made it out onto the field Coach didn’t look mad, and all he said was that he was glad he could make it. Whatever excuse Greg and Sebastian had come up with must have been good.

He joined his team on the field and the game picked up from their. They had already been in the lead, but with John on the field, and playing the best he'd played that year, soon their lead was astronomical. Now that John wasn’t just playing to keep his mind off of Sherlock or to work out his frustration, he was on fire on the field, and his team was picking up on his new attitude. Their morale raised, they were hustling on the field, and the other team didn't know what hit them. 

By halftime it was obvious who was going to win. The team huddled around the coolers for some refreshments before they headed into the locker room to listen to Coach's halftime speech. Greg jogged up to John while he was downing a cup of water and nudged him with his elbow. “You’re welcome.”

“What?”

“I see you two have made up.”

“How-”

Greg nodded to the stands. John followed his line of sight and saw Sherlock sitting in the back row. Sherlock smiled and raised his hand, and John's jaw dropped. Greg nudged him again and told him the rest of the team was already heading inside. John smiled and  waved back at Sherlock, then went to join his team in the locker room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this is the last chapter, I have an epilogue planned for this. I'm not sure when I'll post it, but it shoudn't be too long a wait. :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos or a comment, or subscribed! Especially those of you who have been around since the beginning. You guys are great, and I really appreciate it all. :)


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to get out! School started back a few weeks ago and it's been hard trying to get my schedule on track and whatnot. BUT I have managed to finish this epilogue. Thanks to everyone who read/left kudos/commented! You guys are amazing and you kept me motivated to get this thing finished! Love you all, and thanks again!

His robe was too long.

A simple miscalculation had lead to John ordering his robe several weeks late, which hadn’t seemed like a problem at the time. Then the robe finally arrived and it was several inches too long, and John didn’t have time to get it altered because graduation was two days away. John was less than pleased with the situation. Sherlock thought it was hilarious.

He’d come over to John’s house so they could get ready together before heading to the school together. The minute John stepped out of his bathroom wearing the robe Sherlock had erupted in a fit of laughter. John slapped him with his extra long sleeves in an attempt to shut him up, but then Sherlock grabbed the sleeves and pulled John towards him until they were flush against each other.

“Stop that.” There was no firmness in his tone and a smile on his lips. John managed to free one arm and gave Sherlock another weak hit.

“You started it. With your laughter”

“And now I’m ending it.”

John opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced by Sherlock sealing his lips over his. He forgot all about his indignation the moment his lips touched Sherlock’s.

They were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat and pulled away from each other. Sherlock ducked his head down, but John was unfazed by his sister or the way she was smiling at them. After over a year of being together they’d been walked in on countless times by Harry and others. It no longer bothered John. Sherlock, however, was a different story. Even with his face hidden John knew it was a pretty crimson colour. He placed a finger under his chin and lifted his face to give him a kiss on the cheek. Sherlock’s already scarlet skin became even more so, and John smiled at him.

“You’re so cute when you blush,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only Sherlock to hear. Sherlock gave John a light shove and turned away. Harry cleared her throat again and when John turned to look at her she was tapping her foot impatiently.

“Mom said to hurry up or we’ll be late.”

John grabbed Sherlock’s tie and pulled him in for a quick kiss, then released him to go put on his own robe. A few short moments they were all packed into Mrs. Watson’s car and heading for the school. Harry was bringing her laptop with her so they could Skype Mr. Watson, who was still stationed in Afghanistan, and he could watch John graduate. As much as he would have liked to have his dad physically present, John was glad he wouldn’t be missing out completely.

The ceremony was short and sweet, and before he knew it, John had officially graduated. He tossed his cap in the air with the rest of his classmates, grabbed one from off of the ground because he knew he’d get in trouble if he returned home without a cap, and went to find Sherlock.

He caught sight of a mop of dark curly hair in the crowd and made a beeline for him. On his way over he was stopped by Sebastian, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“We made it!”

“That we did,” John answered with a smile. Sebastian took off his cap and waved it in the air, and John laughed at his friend’s joviality. Sebastian’s energy was always infectious.

John felt a pair of arms sneaking around his neck from behind him and tensed, until he caught a whiff of the familiar cologne.

“Greg.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“I’m psychic.”

“I see Sherlock’s starting to rub off on you.”

The trio shared a laugh, and John’s eyes began searching for Sherlock in the crowd. He was vaguely aware of Sebastian talking, but he didn’t exactly know what he was saying. Probably something about going to grab a bite to eat.

“I know Phillip and Samuel are going. Possibly even Mike and Daniel … ”

What John really wanted was to spend the afternoon with Sherlock at the park, because once they went off to their respective universities who knew when they’d be able to go there together again. However, John knew that Sebastian was enlisting in the army, and from his experience with his father being in the army John knew it would be much harder to meet up with Sebastian once he became active in the military. So for now, he would spend as much time with him as he could. Sherlock would be a little over an hour away. He could go visit him anytime.

He agreed to meet up with his friends later and excused himself from the group to find Sherlock. When John finally managed to make it over to him he wrapped his arms around his waist and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Sherlock laughed as he swiped his hand across his face.

“Well someone’s in a good mood.” 

“How could I not be? I’m with you.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“And you love it.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, staring down at his feet. When he lifted his head there was a smile in his eyes and he reached out to take John’s hand. “Yes, I do.”

Sherlock accompanying John and his friends when they went out to eat wasn’t a regular occurrence, but it happened enough over the last year or so that no one questioned when Sherlock showed up and slid in beside John in the booth.

Orders were placed and the group was silent only for a moment when everyone dug into their meals. Then Sebastian made a joke about the quality of his French fries and there wasn’t another quiet moment for the duration of the meal.

Overall, it wasn’t exactly a very special afternoon, but John knew he would remember those few hours for the rest of his life. It really was one final huzzah, celebrating graduation rather than a game victory this time. John had no idea when he would see any of these people again. Greg was going to the same university as Sherlock, Mike was going to some medical school in Scotland, and Phillip and Samuel were going to America to continue their schooling.

John realised just how lonely he would be come autumn. He didn’t know anyone in Manchester. He didn’t even have any family in Manchester.

He wouldn’t have anyone.

“John. Whatever it is you’re thinking, stop it. You’re not allowed to be upset right now.”

“I wasn’t … How did you know?”

“I know you,” Sherlock replied, grabbing John’s hand.

They were walking Southlake, after just recently saying goodbye to the gang. There had been handshakes, hugs, high fives, and maybe one tear from Phillip. Then everyone had gone their separate ways, promising to text and call, and that had been it.

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand. “John … “

“I was just thinking about how everyone is going their separate ways, and I was thinking that I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get to Manchester, not knowing anyone.”

They finally reached the gate and made their way to their usual seat by the lake. When they sat down Sherlock put his arm around John’s shoulders and pulled him close. “You know what you’re going to do? You’re going to go to rugby practice, and you’re going to take control of that team just like you did here. You’re going to spend long hours studying and it will be worth it because you’ll pass your courses. You’ll make so many friends at Uni, and Greg and I will have to visit you and remind them that we’re your best friends, not them. I’ll also serve to remind everyone there that you are off the market.” He gave John’s shoulder a squeeze and kissed his temple. “You’ll be fine, okay?”

“Okay.” He sighed. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“How did I get so lucky to ever end up with someone like you?”

“You know, that’s going to be a fun story to tell people when they ask us how we got together.”

“Fun?” John turned his body so he could rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I don’t think everything that happened can be described as fun.”

“Yes, but it’s been long enough that I don’t really get mad anymore.”

“You don’t?” John felt Sherlock shake his head. “And here I was thinking I’d be working the rest of my life to make you forgive me.”

“I forgave you ages ago.” Sherlock sighed. “John, there are no words to describe what I feel for you. You know that. You know I love you more than I love myself. You are my best friend. You’ve saved my life in so many ways. Even with all of the stupid drama that happened at first, you have more than made up for it just by being you. So I don’t want you thinking I’m still mad at you for that, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now stop your moping and kiss me.”

John lifted his head to give Sherlock a hard kiss, and that quickly turned into snogging on a park bench. John pulled away when he was out of breath, pressed a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s lips, and then lay his head back on his shoulder so they could watch the sun set over the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, just a heads-up. I do plan on revisiting this universe. However, that won't be until very far in the future. I mean so far in the future you'll probably have forgotten about this fic. But, just letting you know that'll happen eventually.  
> Thanks again to everyone who read!


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